


Blood Ties

by Igornerd



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Naruto
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Can't stop thinking about this story, Comedy, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Decided to post it here too, Every now and then, Family, Family Bonding, Gen, I'm bad at formatting on this site, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Mead, My beta-readers and I joke about it all the time, No pairings planned, Original Character(s), Started writing this a long time ago, The beginning is a bit slow, culture clash, for now, send help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-31 09:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 154,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12129252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Igornerd/pseuds/Igornerd
Summary: It wasn't enough to have to deal with the Thalmor, the Falmer, and all his other enemies. Now he had to deal with the antics of a blond boy, too.





	1. A Child Is Chosen, A Child is Found

 

It was a cold winter, this one. Even for Skyrim, a land known for its rigid climate, it was a difficult one for its inhabitants.

 

The denizens of the village of Helgen were all barricaded inside their homes, away from the biting cold. Laughs could be heard coming from the inside of the local inn, and sounds of music and songs.

 

But no laughs or songs were heating the Harissen household. Husband and wife were sitting quietly on different sides of the common room, ignoring each other in an almost embarrassing way.

 

After all, this was the last night they would spend under the same roof.

They already stopped sleeping in the same bed. It wasn't like they hated each other, or one of them had an affair. They had married too quickly and realized too late that they just didn't work as a couple. It happened every day, in every part of Tamriel, after all.

 

So they had decided, in common agreement, to divorce. They brought their case to the jarl and the priest of Falkenrath and asked for the annulment of the marriage. But it was more difficult that they would have believed it to be.

 

A wailing came from upstairs. Soon, another cry could be heard.

 

The soon-to-be-former couple met each other's eyes. That was the sound of the only reason why they hadn’t already said their goodbyes to each other a week ago.

 

The woman nodded and rose, moving towards the stair that took to the house's upper floor. Following the noise, she arrived in the main bedroom where a crib was placed beside the bed she had shared with her husband.

 

Inside the cradle a pair of toddlers, not even nine months old, were crying. One of the twins had probably woken up and his noise disturbed his brother's sleep. Sitting herself on the border of the bed, the young mother started to swing slowly the cradle and singing a lullaby. She hoped that they would go back to sleep, the last nights had been almost deprived of rest, between the twins waking up and the tension between her and her husband.

  
They had tried to stay together, for their sons' sakes, they really did. But it wasn't fated to be, it seemed. The worse part was that by decree of the jarl, they would have to split the children. It was a compromise of sorts. None of the parents wanted to lose their offspring. And she had been given the right to choose, by the jarl and the priest alike.

 

She tried to talk about it with her former husband, but he just washed his hands about the whole thing. The choice was hers, and only hers. Nobody had objected at that, not even the jar. May the Nine — may the  _ Eight _ damn these men, torturing a mother with such a decision!

 

The children were asleep again, or so she thought, since they were no longer crying. She gazed at the fruits of her womb with sorrow in her eyes. They were so small, so fragile. They both had her blond hair, but inherited their father's blue eyes.   
  
But who to choose?    
  
She and the twins’ father were both Nords, but she wasn't a Skyrim native like the man she had loved. One of them — the firstborn — was stronger and healthier than his brother. The second twin instead was more frail, and more prone to coughs attack and cold in this season.   
  
She was born in Cyrodiil, and had no family that she knew of in her cold and ancestral land. No bonds to let her stay. Her relatives were living in Leyawiin, half a continent away from Helgen. She wanted to go there, away from Skyrim and all the good and bad memories and regrets.   
  
But it was an hard and dangerous journey, especially for a lone woman with an infant.

She was not a defenceless maiden, having done her share of fights and killing during her days as an adventurer. Ironically, it was during one of her travels she met the father of her sons, a fellow traveller and mercenary. But traveling to Leyawiin, on foot, with a  _ toddler _ on her back… that was just inviting death by the hands of the bandits that infested the major roadways in these troubled times.    
  
Also it was winter, it was probable that all the passes had been covered in snow by now and become impenetrable.   
  
The alternative would be a ship, but that would be an even longer journey. And more expensive, too. Fewer bandits, but not fewer dangers. Also, there were no ships that sailed from Skyrim to Cyrodiil. Not directly. She would have to change ships at least half a dozen times while traveling along the coast of continent, stopping to resupply in at least two of Tamriel's provinces.    
  
If she was lucky.

 

High Rock could been safe enough, but then she would have to journey either to the Aldmeri Dominion or Hammerfell. 

 

The Aldmeri Dominion was out of question. That meant no docks at the Summerset Isle, Valenwood or their client-state, Elsweyr. Better to avoid the Thalmor if at all possible.

 

Hammerfell was independent and devastated since the end of the war. Very few travellers and merchant ships went there. But should she have succeed in finding a passage through it, she could arrive in Cyrodiil, either with a caravan or by docking at the city of Anvil

 

On the other route, the eastern one, her first stop would logically be Morrowind, but that unfortunate land was in a chaotic situation since the explosion of the Red Mountain in Vvarderfell and all the invasions it had suffered. 

 

Black Marsh had always been hostile to travellers and seceded from the Empire almost two centuries ago and after Umbriel appeared in the skies above Lilmoth...No. She would skip Black Marsh altogether. It wasn't a difficult choice. 

 

But back to the children. She would think about how to travel later.

 

Who to choose?  She knew her former husband loved them, otherwise she would have escaped in the night with both of them, jarl and priest be damned!   
  


Should she take with her the healthier and stronger twin, more likely to survive the travel to her home? Or the frail one, hoping that his health would fare better in the warmer Cyrodill?

 

“Nines, forgive me,” she murmured.

  
She made her choice.   
  
  


* * *

 

Two days later, she was on a carriage that would have taken her to the city of Solitude, the biggest commercial dock of the entire province. In her arms, sheltered from the cold by a layer of blankets and furs, was one of her sons.

 

From the doorstep of the house where she had lived for two years, her former husband was watching her departing with their other child in his arms.   
  
As the carriage started to move, the two toddlers eyes met, just for a moment.

 

The twins would never see each other again.

 

At least, not while alive.

 

* * *

__**  
**3 months later...  
  


* * *

 

In his long career as a shinobi, Sarutobi Hiruzen had seen a lot of things.

 

Most of them involved blood, pain, and mortal peril. He had fought in the first Shinobi World War, became Hokage before reaching twenty, led his village in the other two wars and thanks to the assistance some of the greatest, more powerful jutsu known from the times of his generation, he was still alive to tell the tale.

 

So he should have been prepared for everything when his students finally come back from their first unsupervised, outside of Fire Country no less.

 

He had felt a sense of relief when he was told by an ANBU that his former genin team had returned to the village, weeks later than expected, but still unharmed.   
  
He couldn’t avoid to feeling a little proud. After all, his students had returned from their first mission in a foreign country, the Land of Tea, without any support from other allied forces.

 

That was a true testament to their potential and talent, and they were just twelve.

 

But nothing could prepare the Sandaime for what they carried inside his office to submit their mission report. Such a thing had never been rarely seen in the office of a Kage, and probably never in the hands of a twelve-years old girl.

 

In Tsunade’s arms, covered by a small bundle of cloth, was a sleeping baby. And a very young one, too, if he could see correctly. Probably only a few months old.

He was slightly baffled by this. Even if he was sure that there was an explanation, it was really something he had never seen before.

 

His musings where interrupted by a soft cough from Jiraiya and the Hokage realized that he had tuned everything out for minutes out of shock.

 

“Welcome back,” he said, hiding his embarrassment. “Report.”

 

“Our mission in the Land of Tea was completed successfully and under the expected time, Sarutobi-sensei,” Orochimaru said, coming closer to the desk and pulling out a scroll out of his backpack.

 

He accepted the scroll, but instead of opening it, he stared idly at his students, silently demanding an explanation.

 

“We are sorry for our tardiness,” his pale student added hastily.

 

“You were supposed to arrive two weeks ago. I was almost at the point of sending a search party after you. What happened?” he asked, sparing a glance to the sleeping infant.

 

“The day before our departure, a violent storm hit the western coast of the Land of Tea,” Tsunade answered. “It was very strong, and it lasted for days. Even for a shinobi, travelling in that climate would have been dangerous, so we decided to wait until it was over.”

 

Sarutobi nodded. True, rumors of the massive storms coming from the ocean had reached even Konoha, but not one of those had mentioned how much damage they could cause.

 

“There was water everywhere!” Jiraiya complained. “A real flood! And we had to save everyone! That’ll show them what an awesome ninja the Great Jiraiya is!”

 

There was quite a bit of pride in his loudest student's voice.

 

“We helped because we were  _ paid _ to, Jiraiya,” Orochimaru sneered. “After we checked into an inn, word spread around and the local lord summoned us. He offered a substantial sum in exchange for our services in helping his people.”

 

The boy rummaged a while into his rucksack and took out of it two items, a scroll and a large pouch.

 

“Here’s the contract we arranged with him, and the money we gained.”   
  
“I would’ve helped even if that guy didn’t ask us to,” Jiraiya pouted.

 

Sarutobi wanted to approve of his white-haired student’s altruism, but he decided to refrain. After that contract signed on the field would give an advantage in the region to Konoha, giving to the village a better reputation and as such, more potential clients.

 

And the unexpected money was good, too.

 

But he was reminded of the other matter at hand when the baby woke up and started to cry. 

 

“And what about him? Or it is a her?” he asked, smirking a little at seeing not only Tsunade, but also Jiraiya trying to calm down the screaming little bundle of joy.

 

With little success. The Hokage noted how Orochimaru’s left eyebrow had developed a small tick. Their trip back home must have been… interesting.

 

“It’s a  _ he _ , sensei,” Tsunade clarified, as she slowly lulled the baby.

 

“When we finally started our journey,” Orochimaru started explaining, “we decided to pass by the coast. The whole region had been devastated by tidal waves. We navigated through it with ease, but five days ago we spotted the ruins of a village on the coast. We would have just carried on, but…”

 

“But Jiraiya started running towards the ruined village, screaming that he saw something,” Tsunade muttered, after having finally been able to stop the child’s screaming.

 

“Well, there  _ was _ something! That’s why I wanted to check!” Jiraiya whined loudly.

 

“You could have just said that instead of rushing in there! What if it was a trap?!” Tsunade yelled.

 

They all flinched when a loud wail erupted from the baby. All Sarutobi could do was sigh in frustration.

 

“There! Look! You made him cry again!” Jiraiya pointed out.

 

“It was your whining that made him sad, idiot!” Tsunade accused, throwing a jab at Jiraiya’s head. 

 

The crying only grew louder.   
  
“Let’s put him under a genjutsu!” Jiraiya said. “Something that will make him sleep.”

 

“You can’t use a genjutsu against someone this young, idiot! It could harm him!” Tsunade hissed, trying to calm the baby once again.

 

“And I didn’t bear his  _ and your _ wails all the way back to the village to see such an idiotic thing happening,” Orochimaru said, frowning to his white-haired teammate.

 

“I presume,” the Hokage said, interrupting his students’ antics, “that the ‘interesting thing’ Jiraiya saw was the baby?”

 

“No, sensei. It was a ship wreck,” the white-haired boy stated matter-of-factly, like it was perfectly normal.

 

“Oh, well, of course,” Sarutobi indulged. After all, the boy was still a twelve years old. “Would you tell me about this… ship?”

 

“It was  _ huge _ ! And it didn’t look like any other ship I saw before! And, and―”

 

“The ship had obviously been slammed against the shoreline by the storm,” Orochimaru interrupted. “And somehow it wrecked exactly in the ruins of the village’s dock.”

 

“Hey! I was gonna tell him that!”   
  
“Jiraiya, don’t yell!” Tsunade hushed him, whispering. “I finally managed to calm him down!”

 

“As Jiraiya said,” Orochimaru continued, ignoring his two teammates, “the ship had a design unlike anything we ever saw before. And…”   
  
After trailing off, the pale boy seemed to hesitate. 

 

Orochimaru hesitating when giving him a mission report? Unheard of! 

 

“Sensei, it was made of a wood I wasn’t able to identify,” his student admitted finally, looking ashamed for his ignorance.

 

Now, that was really unusual.

 

“Really now? Could you please describe the design of this ship?” he asked.

 

“It was long! Really long!” Jiraiya started, enthusiastically. “And there was a wooden animal at the… What’s it called? Prow! There was this wooden horse at the prow of the ship!”

 

“It was a wooden  _ snake _ , idiot,” Orochimaru said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Nooo,” the other boy denied. “You’re saying that just because you’re obsessed with those things.”

 

“The ship had a single mast, sensei,” Tsunade interrupted, before her teammates started a brawl in the middle of the Hokage’s office. “And the sail probably had to be  _ really _ big. But the storm damaged it. There were also some shields along its sides, really big round shields.”   
  
“Yeah, they were awesome!” Jiraiya said, pumping his fist in the air. “They were taller than me!”

 

“Also, the entire ship was clearly heavily damaged by the storm and the impact with the dock,” Orochimaru added.

 

Sarutobi remained silent for a few seconds, frowning because of his confusion. That didn’t sound like any kind of ship he’d seen, or even heard of.

 

Had it not been for the baby, he would have already lit his pipe.

 

“So, you just saw this unusual ship? What happened after that?”

 

“We arrived besides Jiraiya, who was just looking at the ship wreck with wide eyes, standing right there in the open,” Tsunade said, giving a poignant glance at her teammate, who was now massaging his head.

 

No doubt Tsunade had clobbered the boy when they had reached him. That would have been typical.

 

“As they started to argue, we heard a waling cry from above the ship,” Orochimaru said. He launched a brief look at the baby.

 

“I see,” Sarutobi said. He had already figured out that much. “And what happened after that?”

 

“I jumped on the ship!” Jiraiya proclaimed cockily. 

 

Of course he did. Always so brash and impulsive... 

 

“Even though we told him not to,” Tsunade muttered.   
  
“Hey, there was nobody around!”   
  
“It could have been a trap,” Orochimaru pointed out.   
  
“But it wasn’t!”   
  
“We could have all died, had that be the case,” the pale boy replied.   
  
“But we didn’t!” Jiraiya insisted, defending his case no matter what.

 

“And what was on that ship?” Sarutobi asked, giving his students a disapproving frown to stop the bickering. “Besides your new…  _ responsibility _ , of course.”

 

“Our  _ what? _ ” the children cried in unison.

 

“Kidding, kidding,” he said with a mirthful tone. Children these days would believe everything. “But now stop bickering and tell me what did you find on that ship.”

 

Jiraiya and Tsunade exchanged glances. Apparently they didn’t know how to explain what they had seen.

 

“Bodies, sensei,” Orochimaru said. Trust him, to be so blunt. “The ship’s bridge was littered with bodies.”

 

“Mmh, I see,” he muttered. He really wished he could smoke a little. “I suppose they died because of the storm?”   
  
“No, sensei,” Tsunade replied. “There were… significant signs of combat. Most of the bodies showed multiple lacerations, and there were various weapons laying around.”

 

“There was blood everywhere!” Jiraiya said dramatically.

 

“ _ Most _ of them?” Hiruzen asked, ignoring the boy’s outburst.

 

“There were signs of jutsu being used, too!” Jiraiya proclaimed.

 

Well, that changed everything. Were the other villages planning something?

  
His eyes narrowed.

 

“Were any shinobi among the dead?”   
  
“No, sensei. We didn’t find any ninja equipment, not even a kunai or hitai-ate,” Orochimaru replied promptly. His student reached for another scroll inside his backpack. “We have stored the items of interest we’ve found on the ship here. I thought you would have wanted to examine them, they’re quite… unusual.”

 

Sarutobi accepted that scroll, too. Sparing a single glance at his students whose faces were full of expectation, he opened it.

 

The stored contents cluttered in a cacophony of metal all over his desk. Swords shaped unlike any katana he had ever seen composed the majority of the metallic mess that was covering his precious paperwork. There were also axes, maces, and other offensive tools scattered among the blades.

 

He reached for one of the weapons, and unsheathed it, examining the double-edged blade that departed from the vaguely cross-like guard. The metal showed some sign of rust, probably due to having been left uncared on the sea for days. The hilt’s leather felt rough under his hands, and the weapon, even if heavy, looked well balanced.

 

“Sensei, look at this one! The steel is really hard!” Tsunade said enthusiastically, indicating one that was almost on the end of the pile.

 

“Steel tends to be hard, Tsunade-chan,” he said as he felt the blade’s edge with his finger.

 

“Senseeeiii! I mean that its steel is  _ harder _ ! And it doesn’t even rust!”

 

Frowning in confusion, the Hokage put the exotic-looking sword in place, deciding to examine this ‘harder steel’ her student was talking about.

 

Shuffling around the various metal objects, he noted that among them there were also small jewels, pieces of armour, books and other mundane items, and under the whole mass, one of those round shields the kids had told him about. It was made of wood, with a metal border, and it looked really thick. A strangely painted animal was sported on it. 

 

On the top of the shield, was laying the strangest sword he had ever seen, besides the Raijin no Ken that used to belong to the Nidaime Hokage.

 

The sword didn’t have a scabbard, so he could see the exposed blade. The weapon was a beautiful black color, like a sliver of midnight.

 

The blade, the guard, and the hilt seemed to have been forged from a single metal piece. If he had thought that the other sword was exotic, this one looked utterly alien.

 

He grasped the sword and slowly lifted it, surprised by how heavy it was. The metal was cold, and looking at it from a closer distance, he realized that it was not steel. It was a metal unknown to him.

 

He had never seen anything like this before,  _ indeed _ .

Where was the ship from? And the child, of course. There was also the matter of the child. Speaking of which...

 

“Where did you find him?” he asked, carefully lowering the weapon on the rest of the pile.

 

“We didn’t find him immediately, it took us a few minutes,” Jiraiya started, with a sad tone. “He was bound in a blanket, besides the body of a woman. We think… that she was the baby’s mother.”

 

“They had the same hair,” Tsunade confirmed. “And she was embracing him, when she died.”

 

“There were a dozen of bodies around her, too,” Jiraiya continued. “She had killed all of them, using only a sword —”   
  
“What sword was that?” the Hokage asked. He had a strange forebonding feeling.   
  
“The cool black one, sensei. Oh,  and she had used at least a fire jutsu.”

 

Sarutobi eyes widened, and his gazed posed on the child.    
  
Was the little boy the spawn of a shinobi? But if his students hadn’t find any identification symbol or equipment… maybe the woman was a missing-nin that had decided to not show her status using a scratched hitai-ate?

 

But she couldn’t have been one of the attackers, otherwise why would she have taken with her a baby, one that seemed almost a newborn?

 

What village could have she come from, to find herself on a ship of unknown origin that crashed on the western coast of the Land of Tea? Who had attacked them? It couldn’t be a hunter-nin’s doing, because the body of the woman hadn’t been destroyed to preserve her village’s secrets.    
  


Pirates, maybe? Pirates with a missing-nin among their midst, that attacked the ship before, or even during the storm?

 

“Sensei?” his students said, trying to gain his attention. 

 

Blinking his eyes, Sarutobi realized that he had doze off again, lost in his thoughts. He glanced at his students, and saw that another scroll was offered to him, this time by Tsunade.

 

“We have stored the remains of his mother too, sensei,” said the girl, gesturing with her head towards the baby. “We thought that our medics could have examined her, to see if they could understand something about her.”

 

Sarutobi knew that Tsunade was referring to the potential secrets that the body could hide within it. He nodded grimly. An autopsy would have probably revealed something about the origin of their mysterious woman.

 

“How long ago do you think the ship’s crew died?” he asked.   
  
“Difficult to say,” she said, biting her lips. “It was pretty cold, so that may have slowed down the decaying process of the bodies, but I would say… at least two days. No more than three, judging by his state when we found the baby.”

 

“Thank you Tsunade, now let’s focus again on the child… how was he when did you find him?”

 

“On the brink of death,” she said. “He had spent spent all that time in the cold, without food. I immediately started an emergency treatment, but to save him I almost suffered from chakra exhaustion.”

 

“Once the child was no longer in danger of death, we had to stop her,” Orochimaru clarified, causing Tsunade to be a little embarrassed.

 

“And she fell asleep soon,” Jiraiya added, adding more reasons to Tsunade’s chagrin. “The baby, too.”

 

“And what happened next?” Sarutobi asked.

 

“We… disposed of the other bodies,” the white-haired boy said sadly.

 

“Only because you were so damn stubborn about it,” Orochimaru said, crossing his arms.

 

“Hey, snake bastard! We couldn’t leave them to the animals!” 

 

“Yes, we could. We lost time with that stupid task,” the pale boy replied.

 

“But Tsunade was unconscious, we would have lost time anyway!” Jiraiya insisted.

 

“Hey!” the girl protested, offended by that remark.

 

“How did you dispose of them?” Sarutobi asked, wondering how his two pupils had managed such a grim duty.

 

To his surprise, the two boys, instead of answering immediately, looked at each other’s eyes, hesitating.

 

“We burned them with the ship,” they said in unison.

 

Sarutobi remained silent for a moment, before finally nodded approvignly. Destroying the remains had probably eliminated all the evidence of its presence, and probably left Konoha as the only Hidden Village that knew of its existence. That way, only Konoha would have gained from this strange encounter.

 

“After a few hours once Tsunade was able to travel, we departed immediately for Konoha,” Orochimaru continued.   
  
“Which I think was a  _ bad _ idea,” Jiraiya murmured. “We could have found a place to leave the baby, further inland. Instead, we had to take him all the way back to the Fire Country.”

 

“I was the team leader, Jiraiya. It was not your decision to make. We’ve already talked about this.”

 

“And what decision would this be?” Sarutobi asked, smothering another argument between the boys before it could start.

 

Jiraiya looked away, apparently disapproving Orochimaru’s call. 

 

“The baby is obviously an orphan with no ties that we know of, sensei. Searching and finding a family that would adopt him would have taken time. And since the region had just been flooded —”

 

“The research for such a family would have probably been unsuccessful, yes,” he interrupted. “But why take him here to Konoha, Orochimaru? You could have just found a family or an orphanage… even a temple, here in Fire Country.”

 

“Because Konoha needs more shinobi, sensei,” the boy answered.

 

He nodded, understanding what his student meant. It was not exactly an orthodox recruiting method, but it had already happened in the past.

 

And the mother of the baby had been obviously some kind of shinobi, even if her origins were unknown. They probably would never know.

 

And if the boy had inherited some talent from her mother…

 

“So be it,” he proclaimed. “The child will be placed under the care of our orphanage, and when he will be old enough, he will enter the Academy. It will be then, that we will see if your decision was a good one, Orochimaru.”   
  
“Thanks, sensei,” his student said, bowing slightly.   
  
Jiraiya, instead, pouted.

 

“Now, what is his name?” he asked, smiling.

 

There was a long silence, as his students looked at each other’s eyes, their expressions a mix of embarrassment and realization.

 

“We… we didn’t think of giving him one, sensei,” Tsunade admitted with embarrassment.   
  


“What? You’ve travelled with him for days. Surely you should have given a name to him? After all, you had to call him  _ something _ when you spoke about him, right?” he asked, hiding his puzzlement. 

 

“We called him ‘baby’... Wasn’t that enough?” Jiraiya asked, honestly confused.

 

For being so talented shinobi, his students were so clueless about some things. Once again, he had to remind himself that they were only twelve years old.

 

“Give him to me, Tsunade,” he said, sighing softly as he spread his arms towards her.

 

The girl came closer to him, passing around the desk, and Sarutobi accepted the infant with a sense of caring that seemed completely out of place with an experienced killer sitting besides a pile of sharp weapons.

 

The baby didn’t protest as he was gently lulled by the Sandaime’s arms.

 

Jiraiya tried to suppress a snicker, and failed miserably. 

 

“Something on your mind, Jiraiya?” the older man asked, caressing the child’s spiky blond hair.

 

“No, sensei,” his student replied quickly. “Sorry sensei.”

 

“Good. Now, let’s see…” he said, examining the child’s features. “He was taken to us by the storm that hit the coast of the continent, mmh… waves and winds.”

 

“He was taken here by  _ us _ , sensei,” Jiraiya muttered. That earned him a slap on the head, courtesy of Tsunade.

 

“And you said that you found him in the ruins of a dock, right?” Sarutobi asked, without reprimanding the girl’s action.

 

“Yeah! You could say that the ship managed to dock, no matter what!” the white-haired boy laughed, amused by his own terrible joke.

 

Nobody else was laughing. Tsunade gave him another slap, and Jiraiya stopped laughing.

 

“I’ve got it,” Sarutobi announced, grinning. “You will be known as Namikaze Minato.”

 

“That’s a dumb name, sensei,” Jiraiya whined. Tsunade slapped him one more time.

 

The now named Namikaze Minato giggled in the Sandaime Hokage’s arms.

 

* * *

  
  
  



	2. Where A Last Stand Is Held

The door opened slowly, letting the freezing air from outside enter in the inn's common room.   
A tall figure donning a hooded cape and sporting a long walking staff entered, and closed the door behind him, shivering for the cold.   
  
It was a small building, this inn. Little more than a house turned rest stop for any travellers who crossed the road that cut through the Hjaalmarch.

  
The man—he was clearly a man since there was a beard attached to the chin that peeked through the hood—knew he could have travelled further before the sun set, but he was tired. He was still a day from crossing the Karth River and arriving at Solitude, and he wanted to rest on a warm bed for once.

  
He quickly scanned the inn, and was surprised to see that he was the only customer there.   
  
The innkeeper was a woman in her thirties, probably the late half. Pretty, but he was not in the mood.

  
He saluted her with a gesture of his hand and she seemed to relax a bit. She had actually seemed afraid of his presence.   
  
It was only expected, given the tattered weapons and armour dangling from his belt were visible from under his half-cape: a simple dagger that he carried as a last resort weapon and as a tool, and his trusted axe.

  
Not exactly a visitor that inspired tranquillity in a lone woman.   
  
He decided to ignore her. Maybe that would calm her down. With long strides, he reached the burning hearth placed in the middle of the room. He left his backpack fall on the floor, placed his staff besides it and pulled a seat closer to him and sat there, enjoying the warm fire. After a few minutes, he started feeling much better.   
  


A Nord that hated the cold. Funny.

  
He finally spoke to the woman, lowering his hood. She gazed for just a second on his blue eyes, her gaze roaming across the scars that ran over his right cheek, starting from his cheekbone.   
  


A little souvenir left to him by a close encounter with a hagraven.

  
“Something hot, please. And mead,” he added. “I can pay.”  
  


The woman nodded hesitantly and went into the kitchen to fetch a meal for her customer. Why was she so nervous? He hadn’t threatened her, right?   
  
She returned soon, carrying a tray with a full mug, a loaf of bread and a steaming bowl of soup. Apple and cabbage, by the smell.    
  
Why did she look so afraid?   
  
He thanked her and took the tray from her hands. She returned behind the counter and observed him from time to time.   
  
He still hadn't touched his meal.   
  
Why did she seem so afraid?   
  
He took the mead. The sweet alcohol was erupting from it. He lifted the mug, foretasting it. It was his favourite beverage, after all.

  
He stopped when he saw the woman expression.   
Why was she so afraid?

  
Wait.   
  
What was this smell?   
  


He putted down the mug, looking at it.   
  
Yes, she was very afraid, now.

 

“This is a trap, isn't it?” he sighed.

 

The innkeeper's eyes widened. It that was all he needed.

  
He rose from his seat. The mug fell down.   
  
The woman escaped to the kitchen, screaming for help.   
  
He ran after her. She was reaching for a knife. He didn't give her a chance.   
  
With a jump, he grabbed her and pinned her on the wall, keeping her firm in place with his arms.   
  
“Poison. Deadly. Rare.  _ Not your idea _ ,” he hissed. It wasn't a question.   
  
The woman seemed on the point of pissing herself. She managed to nod.   
  
“Who did this?”   
  
“You  _ know _ who,” she said, starting to cry.   
  
Yes, he knew who. But if they were able to plan something like this, in a random tavern he was just passing through, that would mean...

  
That would mean that they had been following him for days. Weeks, even.

 

But that was not possible. His journey to Solitude had been a secret, and he had travelled for days in the wilderness, avoiding villages and cities and stopping only in their hideouts.

 

How could it be —

 

He widened his eyes in realization. Someone had betrayed them. Someone had betrayed the Blades.

 

Faint noises of metal rustling could be heard, coming from somewhere outside of the inn.   
  
He sighed again, closing his eyes. Then slowly, gently, he let go of the woman.

 

She immediately fell on the ground, sobbing, her head lowered.

 

“How many?”

 

“Too many,” replied the innkeeper quickly. “Even for you.”

 

He undid the lace of his mantle. It would hinder him in the impending fight.

 

“We'll see. Hide,” he said to the sobbing woman, leaving the kitchen. He left his mantle on the counter, and paid for his uneaten meal.

 

What a waste of mead.   
  


The blond man grabbed his staff, and extracted a colored vial from one of his pouches. Opening it with only one hand, he swallowed the foul liquid in a single gulp.   
  


As he tossed the empty phial away, he could already feel the fortifying effect of the potion in his body.

 

He opened the door and left the inn.   
  
Thalmor.   
  
Dozens of them.

 

* * *

  
_ Our Hero, our Hero, claims a warrior's heart... _ __  
  


* * *

 

As he ordered to his mer to surround the entrance of the inn, Ederion knew something had gone wrong.

 

If the stupid woman who they had coerced into playing the role of the innkeeper hadn't called them yet, then their target had suspected something. Probably he had killed her; she was expendable after all.   
  
That's what Ederion would have done, in his target's place.

 

Ederion counted among the younger Justiciar present in Skyrim, but he was one of the more cunning and dangerous. When he was offered this mission, he accepted without a second thought.   
  


Should he complete it successfully, it would be a great boost to his career.   
  


Following their target in the wilderness without being detected while leading so many soldiers had been a difficult task, but he had been able to do it.

 

He was the best of the best, after all.

 

The various elves had barely finished to get in position, that the door to the wooden shed opened.

 

His soldiers tensed immediately. A shield wall was raised, spears were pointed towards the entrance, and arrows were nocked.

 

A man left the building, walking like he was just going for a stroll.

 

Whispers started among the ranks. Even if the soldiers under his command were not all veterans, they weren’t green either. But they all had heard the stories of the Dragonborn. 

 

The sworn enemy of the Aldmeri Dominion, and of the Thalmor especially.

 

The warrior who had slain dragons, men and mer alike during Skyrim’s Civil War.

 

The right hand of the gods-damned Blades’ leader.

 

The boogieman that the elven mothers had started using for scaring their children, so that they would eat all the soup at dinner.

 

In the eyes of his mer, the man out there was a legend.

 

Ederion was just looking at the man, instead. A fool, weak man that looked a little more than a tattered vagrant, with a scarred face, an old armour and a walking  _ stick _ .   
  
True, he  _ was  _ the Dovahkiin, but he was getting older now. The man had passed his physical peak at least ten years ago, and with time he would just grow weaker and die.    
  
But still, it was always best to tie up loose ends. After all, he had proven quite a threat in the past, and he could possibly keep being one for decades. 

 

The Justiciar was sure that almost all the man’s biggest achievement were just exaggerations. Tales overstated by the bards that seemed to  _ infest _ this forsaken barbarian country, the most dangerous thing about the man standing before them wasn’t his battle prowess: it was his reputation.

 

He and his few companions represented the single greatest resistance the Aldmeri Dominion had to face since before the Great War, and that would not be tolerated anymore.

 

He raised his hand, ready to give the signal for the archers. Today, the Dragonborn’s legend would come to an end.

 

But as he was savoring the idea of turning the man to a pincushion with only a gesture of his hand, when something that he had never expected happened, which made him hesitate.

 

The man let go of his staff, who fell on the frozen ground. He remained there, unmoving, looking at the company of soldiers in front of him.

 

Then, slowly, he raised his open palms and placed them behind his head.

 

Murmurs could be heard among the mer once again, but this time they were caused by shock and surprise.

 

The Dragonborn was surrendering.

 

Ederion smirked, signaling to the archers to stand down.

 

The man knew he could not win here. Not against this many trained soldiers.

 

Ederion’s mind was abuzz. If he could manage to take that man alive… as his  _ prisoner _ and back to Alinor in chains…

 

The glory… he could already  _ feel _ it.

 

No.   
  
No, the Dragonborn was too dangerous to be just kept prisoner, and executed into the capital's main plaza.

 

But the glory could still be his.

 

After all, what was the difference between taking prisoner one of the greatest enemies of the Dominion, and bringing back his head instead?

 

He advanced towards the surrendering man, slowly extracting the sword. The man was just standing there, looking at the ground. Ederion came closer.

 

He was going to be the one who did it,  _ he _ was going to be the slayer of the Dragonborn!

 

“Conrad Harissen,” he spoke, full of righteous glee. “By the authority given to me from the Thalmor, for the crime of being a Talos worshipper, and for your multiple aggressions against the Aldmeri Dominion, I  _ condemn _ you to —”

 

**“FUS—”**

 

* * *

 

_ I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes... _

_ With a voice wielding power of the ancient nord art _

_ Believe, believe the Dragonborn comes... _ __  
  


* * *

 

**“** **—RO DAH!”** he  _ shouted _ , watching the Justiciar soar through the air and finally slam against the shields of the Thalmor soldiers with a stupefied expression plastered on his face.

 

Sucker.

 

Too bad the elf hadn’t hit one of those spears.

 

Conrad quickly knelt, grabbing his fallen staff and avoiding the few arrows that the archers who weren’t completely shocked had managed to shoot.

 

He’d better find a solution for them. Fast.

 

Raising his right hand, he quickly channelled his power, moving his fingers through the necessary phases. Flames flickered between them, caressing his palm.

 

Various fireballs departed from his extended hand, exploding on the Thalmor’s shield wall. This resulted in dozens of pained screams, a few dead soldiers, and smoke.   
  
Lots and lots of smoke which blocked the archers’ line of fire, giving him a few seconds to formulate a strategy.

 

Running away was not an option. The terrain around the inn was almost completely composed of snowed plains. The salt marshes of the region were too far, and he would have an hard time losing such a force among them. If he wasn’t killed by the archers while he made a run for it.

 

Levitation was not an option either because he would have just made himself a flying target, instead of a running one.

 

To fight was the only choice he had.

 

To annihilate was his only option.

 

As arrows sailed over his head, he kept moving, still half-crouched. 

 

With precise movements of his free hand, he twisted the very fabric of reality for a brief moment, summoning an ally from a different plane of existence. A being made of flames, its form vaguely feminine, materialized besides him. It was hovering a foot above the ground, looking at Conrad with anticipation, waiting for its master’s instructions.

 

“Kill the archers!” Conrad yelled. The atronach departed immediately, unleashing a jet of flaming fury against the soldiers.

 

Conjuring the daedra after that volley of fireballs had taken its toll on his magicka reserves,he could already feel the effects of the potion, refilling his spent mystical energy steadily.

 

Getting up, he used the few recuperated energies to weave a defensive barrier around his body. Once the protection was set, he sprinted towards the Thalmor’s barely-visible lines, taking his axe from his belt.

 

He emerged from the smoke, right in front of an Altmer who clumsy attempted to stab him with his spear. A simple spin, and the charging Dragonborn knocked the weapon away with his staff, driving the blade of his axe deep inside the elf’s unprotected neck.

 

The soldier died almost instantly, and with a twist of his right hand he freed the weapon, sending the corpse slamming into his comrades’ ranks.

 

He pressed on, breaking the skull of a shocked Thalmor with another swing, splitting his helm in two. He did a hastened pirouette to side-step the lunge of his enraged companion, while channelling his power into his staff, shooting an hail of lighting into the spearmen —err, spearmer.

 

They fell, fuming from the joints of their armours, still twitching even after their death by electrocution.

The confusion among the Thalmor soldiers was bloody hilarious.

 

Too bad it didn’t last for long.

 

Conrad ducked, feeling a broadsword cutting the air above him, where his head had been a split-second ago. He lunged the sturdy oaken staff in the middle of the warrior’s legs, and  _ twisted _ , tripping him and making him fall on the ground on his back.

 

Before the elf could even try to get up, Conrad had already brutally struck his chest with his axe three times.

 

“Is this all you've got?!” he questioned as he dislodged the weapon from the fallen’s rib cage, grinning at the golden-plated soldiers that were surrounding him.

 

The response he received was an arrow that would have hit him in the chest, hadn’t it been stopped by the magical protection around him. A faint flash of light, and the projectile bounced harmlessly on the ground.

 

Apparently, the flame atronach was not doing such a great job at distracting the lot of them, since there were so many.

 

He couldn't afford to stay in the open, but the middle of a melee, even the Thalmor would not risk to hit one of their own. 

 

With a mighty battle cry, he charged his enemies, that were waiting for him not far away, spears raised.

 

He waited until the last instant, then he  _ shouted  _ again. The blast of the Unrelenting Force opened a wide hole in the middle of their ranks, sending the soldiers in the front flying backwards as the others staggered to maintain their footing. 

 

Running directly among the prone Thalmor, stepping on them, he quickly hit the dirt with his staff one, two, three, four times.

 

Each time the end of the staff struck the ground, a different elemental rune was created on the spot. He had barely the time to outrun them as they exploded one after another, triggered by the movements of the dazed warriors.

 

As flames, bursts of cold, discharges of electricity and rocks blasted out of the very ground beneath him, he lunged forward, without looking back.

 

* * *

 

_ It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes _

_ Beware, beware the Dragonborn comes... _ __  
  


* * *

 

A loud explosion, or maybe a series of explosion in close succession, was the first thing he heard clearly when he was able to breathe normally again.

 

Ederion had been almost knocked out from the impact against the soldiers under his command, and was suffering from aches on his whole back.

 

Groaning in pain —something that ashamed him greatly—he rolled on his flank, trying to get a better footing.

 

He looked around. He had lost his sword during his unexpected flight, and he hated being unarmed in a dangerous situation.

 

But his blade was not what he found, searching around from where he was laying.

 

What he saw instead was a  _ man _ that had just  _ slaughtered  _ a good third of his soldiers.

 

How was this possible? Was it that difficult for those incompetents fools to kill a simple  _ human _ ?!   
  
He should have ordered to bring him down with multiple volleys of arrows.

 

The Justiciar felt someone grabbing his arm, and pulling him up. Sparing it a glance, he recognized one of his trusted battlemages.

 

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted as he slapped away the armored hand. “And go to kill that lowborn  _ bastard _ !”

 

Instead of joining the melee, setting him on fire or wasting him with bolts of lighting, the battlemages looked at each other, hesitantly.

 

“Forgive me, my lord. But shouldn’t we try to eliminate the target w —”   
  
“Just  _ DO IT _ !” he snapped, almost frothing in his frustration. “ _ DO IT, DO IT DO IT _ !”

 

Intimidated by his sudden explosion, the elite spellcasters unsheathed their weapons and jogged towards the battle, spilling out in a fan formation. Their march was a solid line of metal and magic, ready to destroy the enemy.

 

“AND SOMEBODY DESTROY THAT DAEDRA,” Ederion ordered, not really caring about them anymore. “I WANT THOSE ARCHERS READY!”

 

He was on the point of ordering someone, no matter who, to fetch his weapon, when he heard it.

 

A cry of pain, from the fight. And not an elven one.

 

Snapping his head in the direction of the combat, he saw that the Dragonborn had been wounded, a slash had struck true in his arm, in spite of the armour the man was wearing. 

 

Now he was staggering, his staff lost, swinging his axe to keep the lancers at bay while walking backwards. Crimson rivulets were clearly visible on his wounded limb.

 

Ederion smiled. 

 

No matter how formidable the man was, he was still just a man, a man fighting a great number of trained soldiers.

 

Victory would be his.

 

* * *

 

_ For the darkness has passed _

_ And the legend yet grows _

 

* * *

 

“Fuck off, you murdering  _ BASTARDS! _ ” Conrad yelled, as he killed another Thalmor with a crude blow of his weapon.

 

The last jab had shattered his magical protection, and the spear’s sharp end had left a deep gash on his forearm, causing him to let go of his staff. The limb felt so heavy, after the wound he had received, but he was still able to move it, and clench a fist.

 

Which was good.

 

The fact that he was surrounded, and he had lost momentum… that was not good. The trick with the four runes had cost him almost all his magicka reserves, so frying the pansy elves was out of question.

 

The effect of the potion he had he had drunk before leaving the inn was almost due, and it wasn’t replenishing his magical energies like before.

 

He fumbled on his pouches, the blood on his palm rendering the leather slippery.

 

An elven warrior, noticing his lapse of concentration, lunged towards him, spear pointed at Conrad’s belly.

 

He side-stepped, batting the polearm away with the blunt part of the axe. The spear’s point hit the ground, piercing it, and he kicked the Altmer with all his strength in the groin.

 

As the elf’s face contorted in a pained expression, as knelt, gasping for air. Conrad finished him with an horizontal slash aimed to the mer’s cheek, and finally retrieved another vial from his pouch.

 

It was one of his weakest potions, though. In his haste, as he stumbled with his pouches, he had opened the wrong one.

 

Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

 

He swallowed the potion in a single, short swill, just in time to notice another incoming attacker, charging at him and yelling like a madman.

 

He wouldn’t be able to dodge, this time, so he reacted reflexively.

 

He threw his axe, that plunged its head completely into the elf’s chest, breaking the armour. The Altmer just stared at it with a stupefied expression, before finally collapsing.

 

“Come on, let’s rush him now!” someone among the Thalmor lines said. “He’s unarmed!”

 

“Unarmed my  _ ASS _ !” he cussed at them, gnashing his teeth while unsheathing his dagger with his left hand.

 

Seeing that his defense was only a glorified steel knife, they charged in unison.

 

Idiots.

 

Conrad went to meet their assault, dagger ready while he raised his free hand in the air. He could feel his inner power, feeble as it was after too much usage.

 

He called upon it, and a sword appeared in his hand, conjured in the same way he had summoned the atronach. The newly created blade descended, and daedric metal met moonstone.

 

Moonstone lost, and elven blood splattered on Conrad’s metal breastplate.

 

The retribution for this latest kill was not late to come.

 

He tightened his grip on the two weapons, and he moved, like a whirlwind, dodging, parrying and redirecting the incoming strikes. The few ones he couldn't, he had to count on his armour to protect him.

  
Conrad didn’t restrict himself to idle defense. He moved the sword in wide, powerful swings, while stabbing quickly with the shorter blade every time he saw an opening.

 

More and more Thalmor fell under them.

 

Two spearmer tried to attack him from both sides at the same time, but he just averted their thrusts with a simple turn of his body and rotating his sword. 

 

They collided with each other, losing balance. The daedric blade beheaded the first, while the dagger punctured the second's lungs.

 

He freed the shorter blade with a strong pull, doing a low sweep with the conjured weapon at the height of another elf’s legs, cutting deep. The warrior fell, wailing in pain. 

 

Conrad helped ease his pain, with the courtesy of a a dagger in his eye socket. As he wrested the weapon from there, he could hear a squelching noise.

 

“Come on now!” he taunted. “Who’s ne —”

 

He wasn’t able to finish his question, since a fire bolt exploded on his torso, sending him back, sprayed on the ground. The center of his breastplate had become almost red-hot, and his beard had been singed.

 

It hurt like Oblivion. 

 

Who was the asshole he had to kill, now?

 

He forced himself to stand, and saw the asshole, and his battle brethren. 

 

An entire squadron of battlemages.

 

It had been years since the last time he had fought a squadron of battlemages.

 

He grinned, finally on his feet.

 

**“TIID KLO UL!”**

 

* * *

 

_ You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn's come... _

 

* * *

 

Ederion could barely believe his own eyes.

 

A part of him started to realize why the songs portrayed the Dragonborn as someone able to do such amazing feats, and he had to see on his own the human’s battle prowess.

 

The Nord had made short work of everyone who had tried to bring him down so far. 

 

But now...now it looked like he was not even  _ trying _ , and he was cutting them down like a sickle through weed.

 

He moved at an unnatural speed, none of his movements seemed to be wasted, and each swing of his weapons slayed a elf.

 

It was then, when the last of the spearmer fell and their single enemy started to kill the battlemages with ease, that Ederion understood.

 

That was not a man.

 

It was a monster.

 

And he had to be dealt as such.

 

He looked through the surviving archers. There were still quite a lot of them, but they weren’t able to deal with a simple fire atronach.

 

Pathetic.

 

Walking towards them, he snatched a bow from the hands of the first he reached. Without stopping, he took an arrow from the second.

 

In a single, fluid motion, he nocked the arrow and released the string.

 

The projectile pierced the flaming daedra’s neck, who shrieked in pain, losing quickly physical consistency and finally disappearing.

 

He tossed rudely the weapon to the archer he took it from, not really caring if the mer caught it or not.

 

He had to prepare his trap, and quickly.

 

“Listen to my orders now, and prepare, we’ll have only one chance!” Ederion yelled at the stupefied bowmer. “I don’t care how  _ many  _ of you have died!  _ KILL _ the motherfucker!”

 

* * *

  
_ Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin _

_ Naal ok zin los vahriin _

 

* * *

 

Parry, deflect, thrust in the stomach.

 

Slowing  _ time _ itself with that dragon shout and exploiting the openings that normally he would not be able to see could be interpreted like cheating from others, or playing dirty.

 

Side-step, hack, stab in the neck.

 

Which was fine for Conrad. He had learned decades ago that there was no ‘honorable combat’, especially against an higher number of opponents.

 

Feint, slash, puncture liver.

 

And being able to dodge with ease the incoming spells of the battlemages he was butchering was a pretty nifty bonus. No matter how slow the time flowed, flames and ice shards still hurt if they touched you.

 

Slice, thrust, sink both blades into an armored chest, watch as it erupts with blood.

 

Turning slightly, Conrad saw one elf going for his head, warhammer raised and ready to strike. 

 

At the worst possible moment, time chose to start flowing normally again.

 

Conrad  _ swore. _

 

He barely avoided having his head smashed in, but the weapon managed to impact with his shoulder instead.

 

The blow was enough to make him stagger, desperately grasping for some semblance of balance.

 

The battlemage didn’t lose the chance. Moving on his flank, he slammed a second blow, harder than the previous, straight into Conrad’s back.

 

Conrad fell to his knees, gasping for air and barely able to hold his weapons.

 

He felt the steps of the heavily-plated spellcasters behind him come to a stop. The Thalmor was probably raising the hammer again, this time for a finishing blow.

 

Was this the way all the dragons he had slain felt, before the end?

 

He felt despair claw at his soul.

 

Was this how his journey would come to an end? Killed by a no-name servant of his enemies, on a snowy field littered with bodies?   
  
Well, this was a surefire way to the gates of Sovngarde. Again, and this time forever.

 

At least there would be mead there.

 

He heard a slight scrape on the snow behind him. The Thalmor had shifted his position to land better hit.

 

It was coming.

 

No.

 

_ No. _

 

He wouldn’t die like this. He  _ refused _ to die like this!   
  
He stabbed blindly behind him, hoping for the best. A pained groan was his answer.

 

Conrad had no clue what he managed to hit, but he didn’t give a damn. He twisted the blade and  _ pulled _ .

 

The action was rewarded by the sensation of warm blood spraying his hand, and by a loud, metallic thud.

 

Only two battlemages left, a few feet from him.

 

As he got on his feet, the two Altmer looked at each other. They nodded, and started to circle him from different directions, charging offensive spells

 

He would not be able to reach one of them without being hit by the other’s magic.

 

But he could try.

 

He lunged forward, running on the snow and reading his right arm for a killing swing.

 

That was the moment when the daedric sword dispelled, having reached the limit of its existence.

 

There was no time to conjure another weapon, so he had to improvise.

 

Closing his right hand in a fist, he punched the battlemage in the face. The opening in the helm was wide enough, but he had probably broke his pinkie because of the contact with the solid metal that framed the mer’s face.

 

It really hurt, and he cried in a mix of rage and pain. He was satisfied to have broken the Altmer’s nose, though.

 

The battlemage faltered, dazed by the blow.

 

Conrad could feel the other one, feel as the magic hummed in the air. He was a short distance away, finishing his spell.

 

Grabbing the dazed Altmer's neck, so hard that he was choking him, Conrad turned, pushing the elf into the path of the deadly magic.

 

Ice shards stabbed the mer, and he fell to the ground.

 

The last of the battlemages was not long in joining his bretheren past the void when Conrad's dagger soared into the air and buried itself in his eye.

 

Lucky shot.

 

Turning around, Conrad realized that he was standing alone in the middle of the bodies, in the open, with no weapons, and standing right in front of the remaining archers.

 

Almost twenty of them, and their arrows were already knocked and aimed at him.

 

Stupid daedra, it only had one job!

 

But there was no time for that.

 

The Justiciar gave an order.

 

The bows shot.

 

Conrad raised his left arm, once again calling upon his power.

 

He hadn’t enough magicka or time to create a protective barrier like before, so he opted for the next best thing.

 

A shield, a daedric one, appeared already strapped to his forearm.

 

He had no magicka left, and his mind was slightly foggy as a result. Still, he was able to raise the shield to protect his head and chest from the incoming arrows.

 

The projectiles bounced off the hard metal surface, becoming virtually useless as they lost their momentum.

 

Too bad the shield couldn’t protect his legs.

 

One hit his left leg, but it was the right that had it worse, and various arrows snaked their way into his muscle and bone.

 

Screaming in anguish, he fell on his side.

 

The Thalmor were cheering, especially the Justiciar

 

So,  _ this _ was how he was going to die? What a joke! The great and almighty Dragonborn, slayer of Alduin World-Eater, brought down by an arrow to the knee.

 

_ Pathetic. _

 

They were coming.

 

He had maybe one shout at disposal, two if he strained his throat. 

 

Unable to move. No weapons. No magicka left. Bleeding from the wounds...

 

Aye, he was screwed.

 

Unless he used  _ that _ shout.   
  
The one he  _ hated _ using. Mostly because the place from which he called that power from gave him the creeps.

 

But when the alternative was having your body paraded through the Aldmeri Dominion as some elf’s trophy...

 

He saw the Justiciar picking up a discared sword from the ground and looking at him like if his head was the best thing the he had ever seen.

 

Conrad’s rage erupted, and his dragon blood sang.

 

**“DUR NEH VIIR!”**

 

* * *

 

_ Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal _

_ Ahrk fin norok paal graan _

 

* * *

 

That morning, as he marched in the snowy region, at the head of his soldiers, Ederion was expecting an easy task.

 

Collect body of a deadly poisoned man, a criminal, bring him home, and claim the glory.

 

Then, said man had left the tavern, and started his single-handed slaughter.

 

And Ederion had got frustrated.

 

So he had sacrificed more and more soldiers, but nothing worked.

 

His frustration had deepened. 

 

He had even been tossed away by one of those shouts! Humiliated in front of his own soldiers!

 

Screw that, he was FURIOUS!

 

And FINALLY, the Dragonborn was hit with a volley of arrows. As it should have been from the very beginning.

 

As he had saw the fallen warrior gasping on the ground, he had started to move closer, willing to give the final blow himself.

 

Then, there was another of those gods-damned shouts.

 

A black and purple sphere of ethereal flames swirled in front of the Dragonborn’s prone form.

 

Then, the stench of death and putrefaction.

 

And then, Ederion and his bowmer were staring at a dragon.

 

The Justiciar was speechless, shocked beyond belief.

 

The plan was  _ fucked. _

 

Some of the archers screamed and made a run for it, mad with terror.

 

This, unfortunately for them, caught the dragon’s attention.

 

With a beat of leathery wings and a foul miasma, the massive creature was on them.

 

That was the last straw.

 

All the remaining elves, all but Ederion, started running, trying to escape the dragon’s wrath.

 

Ederion had failed. 

 

He had put his reputation on the line with this mission, taking with him an entire company of trained soldiers and even a battlemage squadron.

 

And now none of them would make it back alive.

 

There was no way in Mundus that he would be able to survive to the  _ thing _ that was soaring in the sky, freezing the fleeing soldiers with his breath, or assaulting them on the ground.

 

He heard the sound of bones breaking, of armour and organs squelching as a one thing under the creature’s jaws.

 

No way  _ he _ would survive the summoned dragon.

 

Wait.   
  
Summoned?   
  
The dragon… it was a summoned creature!   
  
Summoned creatures followed some rules, ways how the magic that conjured them worked.

 

For example, unless a ritual or something else was used, the summoning would not be permanent.

 

And if the summoner was killed, the conjuring spell would cease, and the creature would disappear.

 

He turned immediately to the still prone form of Conrad Harissen. 

 

Tightening his grip on the sword, he charged.

 

He was going to survive this!    
  
The  _ glory  _ could still be his!

 

“DIE!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, as his blade descended on the man.

 

There was a metal clang as the sword clashed against the daedric shield littered with arrows.

 

How  _ dared _ the bastard defend himself?!   
  
“DIE! DIE! DIE! DIEEE!” Ederion shouted like a madman, striking with all his strength each time he yelled the word.

 

And each time, the shield would save the Dragonborn’s worthless life.

 

Snarling, Ederion kicked the wounds on the man’s legs.

 

The pained howl that followed his action made him smile inwardly.

 

With a sweep of the sword, followed by another powerful kick, he was able to rip the shield out of the Dragonborn’s grasp.

 

The daedric item disappeared, having lost contact with its summoner’s body.

 

He raised the long blade, the tip pointed down, ready to descend on the man’s heart.

 

It was over.

 

His assurance was betrayed when the man punched him in the groin. Hard.

 

He fell down besides the man, moaning in pain. 

 

His sword fell, and a pair of strong hands went for his neck.

 

Ederion struggled, escaping from the Nord’s attempted grab.

 

And received another punch, this time in the left kidney.

  
He retaliated with a kick on the man’s right leg.

 

They were now grappling, wrestling, punching, kicking and rolling over each other, screaming in pain, rage and frustration.

 

_ Finally _ , Ederion was able to overcome the wounded man, and reach for the sword.

 

Without getting up, he tried to slit the man’s throat with it, almost succeeding.

 

_ Almost. _

 

The Nord was actually stopping the blade with his own hands!

 

Growling like a beast, Ederion applied all his weight on the sword. As the edge started to deeply cut his palms, the Dragonborn hissed.

 

Then his azure eyes met Ederion’s golden ones.

 

**“Yol,”** the man said, in a non-human voice. His eyes made something strange, and Ederion hesitated in front of the strange phenomenon.

 

**“Toor,”** the Dragonborn continued. Small embers left the man’s mouth.

 

The azure yes...Ederion could see it clearly now. They had become slitted.

 

Like those of a dragon.

 

The man’s mouth opened again. A bright similar to the one of a furnace was visible at the end of his throat.   
  


**“SHUL!”**

  
Ederion’s head was lambed by flames hot as a dragon’s breath, his brain cooked almost instantly.

 

He never saw the human pushing his corpse away.   
  
He never saw the Dragonborn reaching for the pained neck, strained because he had used too many shouts in quick succession. Or how he extracted a big, red vial out of one of those pouches and tried to drink it.

 

And he never saw the Dragonborn fall unconscious for the wounds he had suffered, potion still in hand, bleeding in the now red snow.

 

* * *

_  
Fod nust hon zindro zaan _

__ Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal  
__  


* * *

__

In the world contained in the depths of the Shinigami’s stomach, a lonely white-cloaked figure stirred inside the ruined tower he used as a hiding place.

 

He could feel a new presence in this terrible realm, and it wasn’t one of its terrible denizens.

 

Who had just arrived in this wasteland dominated by the dead and lost souls?


	3. Regrets, Hopes and a Dragon

 

Conrad slowly opened his eyes.

 

The first thing his mind registered was that he was not in pain.

 

The second was that he was not feeling cold.

 

That was a relief, actually.

 

The dark purple, constantly storming sky was not.

 

His nostrils were assaulted by how  _ wrong _ the air felt, on an almost metaphysical level.

 

And by a foul stench.

 

**“Qahnaarin, you’ve awakened,”** a deep voice resounded behind him. 

 

Durnehviir.

 

Turning his head, he saw the putrefied dragon sitting on the grey dirt, in the arena where he had fought him so many years ago.

 

He was in the Soul Cairn.

 

_ Why  _ was he in the Soul Cairn?

 

“Am I dead?” the Nord asked, rising slowly on his feet. He didn’t try to hide the apprehension from his voice.

 

If it turned out that he had to pass the whole afterlife in such a terrible place, it would be a major case of rotten luck.

 

And something he would expect, given his lifetime’s experience with it.

 

**“No, Dovah. You are only mostly dead.”**

 

“And that’s better… how?” Conrad asked, voice rife with sarcasm. The dragon was unperturbed.

 

**“Your body, back in the Mundus, is not dead, yet. Should it survive, you will be able to return to it.”**

 

“My…  _ body _ ? You mean that I’m not here physically?” he asked, gesturing to their surroundings. “And now that I think about it,  _ how _ did you manage to take me here? And  _ why _ ?”

 

**“Our deal. When you summoned me for the first time, our contract was sealed. Since you are now very close to Dinok, to death, I was able to take your spirit here. Temporarily, of course. Unless you die.”**

 

“Well, I thank you for informing me of this possible use of our agreement… a _decade_ later,” he deadpanned, not pleased by this revelation at all.

 

**“You’re welcome.”**

 

Did the rotting flying lizard just snort at him?   
  


It was difficult to tell between the deep voice and decaying flesh.

 

“Would you just tell me why you brought me back with you?”

 

**“I was asked to.”**

 

Now, that was not Conrad was expecting.

 

“You were asked?!” he asked, incredulous. “By  _ who _ ?”

 

**“By him,”** the dragon said, indicating with a single talon somewhere behind the Dovahkiin.

 

Conrad turned.

 

* * *

  
When Namikaze Minato sealed the Kyuubi into his newborn son so many years ago, sacrificing his own soul to the Shinigami, he was expecting to experience either an existence of unimaginable pain, his very soul slowly consumed by the death god’s stomach, or a complete, utter void with  _ nothing _ for eternity.

 

Instead, it turned out that the bottom of the Shinigami’s stomach was the resting place of this weird dimension, filled with strange ruins, lost souls, terrible creatures that preyed on them, reigned by those malignant beings that referred to themselves as the “Ideal Masters”.

 

Masters who were apparently unaware of their being somehow similar to parasites, living in a god’s belly.

  
Minato was still wondering if being consumed or existing in a complete void wouldn’t have been a better option.

 

When he had gained awareness of his surroundings after his death, he was bewildered.

 

Not only was this strange world dark, dangerous, and terrible, it was also incredibly foreign.  _ Alien _ , even.

 

Even in his dead and incorporeal state, he had to learn how to survive against the monsters that dwelled in the barren wastes.

 

Apparently, there were not a lot of souls that spoke his own tongue. He had actually met one once, but that shinobi had been in this place for so long that his sanity was in tatters.

 

Inwardly, Minato was utterly afraid of becoming like him with the passing of the decades.

 

But he would not surrender to his fate, waiting for that slow descent into madness, year after year, until there was just a husk with barely a mind inside.

 

He was, or had been during his life, the Yondaime Hokage of Konohagakure. He didn’t like to boast his title, but if the creatures of this place and their masters wanted to destroy either his soul or his sanity, they would have to  _ fight _ him for it.

 

The first years had been pure hell: there was no other way to describe it.

 

Followed, stalked, chased, even hunted down. He lived months of continuous conflict.

 

But he was dead. Not having to deal with mortal necessities like sleep, thirst, or hunger had their own advantages.

 

Then one day, the creatures stopped coming.

 

They still attacked him if he came too close to them, but they stopped hunting him like they had before. Apparently, destroying legions of them had made them realize that it was a waste of time and resources.

 

Even if the Ideal Masters seemed to have a neverending supply of them.

 

Having more time to do something else beside fight, run, and hide, he was able to interact with the other less-aggressive denizens of his new world.

 

Slowly, he had learned the language spoken from the majority of the souls that filled this strange realm. Learning a language from scratch was not easy, but he had  _ time _ , after all.

 

It had been a long and tedious task, mostly because a lot of the souls in this place were cursing their fate or generally being miserable about it.

 

As his mastery of the language improved, he learned more and more bits of pieces of cultures and histories of what seemed to be another world entirely.

 

Who would have guessed that a whole different continent existed on the other side of the great ocean? Filled with lands, nations, people, traditions…

 

There were even different  _ species _ . Races that weren’t even  _ human _ , with their own civilizations.

 

And nobody in Konoha… nobody in the Fire Country… no, scratch that. Nobody in the _ whole _ Elemental Nations knew about any of it.

 

He was eager to learn all he could, and speaking for a few days—or weeks—with the rare souls willingly to, helped him remain in good mental shape.

 

After all, he  _ needed _ to think about something besides his family’s fate.

 

Kushina… what had been  _ her _ soul’s fate? He prayed that she had gone to a better place. Surely, there had to be one.

 

And Naruto, his son…   
  
Was he growing up well? Had he been taken care for? Was he  _ fine _ ? Was he  _ safe _ ?

 

Not knowing  _ that _ , above all things...that hurt more than any torment he had suffered since he arrived in this forsaken place.

 

Being completely unable to change that, he had opted all the time his train of thoughts for a simple solution. Think about something else, because it hurt too much.

 

And for the longest time he had not strayed from that pattern.

 

It had continued that way, year after year, for the longest time, until a fortuitous encounter.

  
Since then, Minato had been given a ray of hope in this damned place.

 

He had formed a plan, and put it in motion. It had took a long time but now the older—who was not really older—man was standing in front of him.

It was a strange experience, like looking at a mirror that twisted the image reflected on it.

 

The older-looking blond had shorter hair, and broader shoulders, but that could have been an impression given from the armour he was wearing. A short beard covered his face and three long scars were etched into his right cheek.

 

And the eyes, even if they had the same shade of azure, were a little colder. And right now were completely widened.

 

But the resemblance was uncanny.

 

The only problem now, was how to tell him—

 

“Who the fuck are you?” the man snarled, his expression morphing to a scowl.

 

Well. That was a good way to start, no matter how blunt.

 

He scratched his head, thinking how to reply. Should he…?   
  
Well, there were not a lot of ways to answer to that question.

 

“ _ I _ ,” Minato said, pointing to his chest with his hand, “am your brother.”

 

The man in front of him—his brother, he had to remind himself—just stared at him, blinking for a few seconds.

 

“Say what?” was the question he received, a little more than a whisper.

 

The great undead dragon was looking at the whole scene, apparently amused.

 

“I said, I am your—”

 

“I heard that! I’m not deaf!” his brother snapped. “What are you blabbering about?!”

 

Minato sighed. He had been afraid of a similar reaction.

 

After all, they both hadn’t been aware of each other’s existence, and Minato had learned of Conrad’s only after his death.

 

In his brother’s eyes, he was probably just a random ghost that somehow resembled his appearance, claiming to have some blood ties with him. 

 

“I understand that it’s difficult to believe, but—”

 

“FUCK OFF!” his twin snarled, interrupting him again. “If you think you can just tell me something like that and—”

 

**“Vazah, Dovahkiin,”** the dragon Durnehviir said, with his deep voice.  **“It’s true.”**

 

That stopped the outburst, and the man turned towards the great dragon, slowly, an accusing finger still pointed towards Minato.

 

“What? Durnehviir, don’t tell me that you believe this—”

 

**“I was the one who told your Zeymah, your brother’s soul, that you’re of the same Sos, the same blood.”**

 

There was a moment of complete silence, disturbed only by the winds of the desolate place.

 

Then, slowly, Minato’s brother turned to face the dragon unable to die, his eyes slitted.

 

“How can you be sure of this?” he hissed.

 

**“I met your Zeymah when I came back in this Dur Lein, cursed world, after the last time you summoned me.”**   
  


“The last time, you said?” Minato’s brother asked, looking pensive. “But that was...five years ago.”

 

**“Geh, yes. When you and your Aar attacked your enemy’s stronghold. It was a good fight.”**

 

“The Blades are not my servants, dragon,” the man said, bitterly. “I’m not their master, and I don’t want to be.”

 

Minato was a little confused by his brother’s statement. From what he had learned in these years, he was supposed to be some kind of champion, a leader of men. And even some mer, too.

  
That was how he had been told about, at least. So why was he denying that?

 

**“They follow you in battle, Dovahkiin. They follow your orders, that makes you their In.”**

 

“Whatever. I don’t want to talk about  _ my _ position in the resistance with  _ you _ . I already have Delphine pressing me about it,” the not-yet-dead man said, sighing. “Just keep going with your tale, Durnehviir.”  
  


**“As I came back to the Ideal Master’s dominion, I saw him. He soon proved to be a Bahlan Kendov. A worthy warrior. We fought quite often.”**

  
“It was just a random encounter,” Minato said sheepishly, thinking that he should add his own account to the dragon’s tale. “I was just travelling on the plains, and Durnehviir appeared from nowhere, and attacked me immediately.”

 

**“We fought and fought for months, because he was a good adversary. He met me blow for blow. A distraction from my cursed existence.”**

 

“Yeah, well… I was not really happy about it, actually,” the Yondaime said. 

 

Durnehviir ignored him.

 

**“Grah Pruzah, we had. I usually won.”**

 

Minato rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to reveal the  _ real _ wins and defeats ratio. He had learned that the dragon had an ego bigger than his body, and often liked to boast his power.

 

He suspected that the same could be said for all the others of his kin.

 

**“But as time went on… I started to have my suspicions,”** the dragon continued.  **“Even if he was a just a Sillesejoor, the soul of a mortal, he was able to resist me. Even beat me, a few times.”**

 

“You know, you’re still not telling me why—” the Dragonborn tried to say.

 

**“He resembles you very much, Dovah—”**

 

“A  _ lot _ of Nords resemble me! We’ve all blond hair and beards, or so the stereotype says. Get to the point!”

 

**“And his Sil, his soul… even if it is a human one… he smells like a Dovah.”**

 

For the second time, silence filled the great arena before Minato’s brother interrupted it.

 

“Are you saying… that  _ he _ was Dragonborn, too?!” 

 

**“No. His soul is a Joor’s, a mortal’s, of the Jul, a human soul…”** Durnehviir spoke, slowly.  **“But he had been close to a Dovah when the souls entered both of your bodies. In his… and yours… Monah. When both of you were in your mother’s womb.”**

 

“You think that he is my brother because… his  _ soul _ … smells funny,” the other man deadpanned.

 

“Actually—” 

 

“You, shut up. Dragons are speaking here,” his brother said, waving his hand at Minato dismissively. The Yondaime was taken aback. This was not going how he had planned. “Are you sure that you’re not just bored and making stuff up to entertain your—”

 

**“I AM** **_SURE_ ** **!”** Durnehviir  _ thundered _ , causing the ground to shake in the face of his fury.  **“I HAVE LIVED FOR MILLENNIA, DOVAHKIIN! I SPENT MY CURSED EXISTENCE HERE, SURROUNDED BY SOULS. I RECOGNIZED YOUR DOVAH ZIIL WHEN I LAID MY EYES ON YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME! IF I SAY, THAT THE SIL OF A JUR SMELLS LIKE A DOVAH FRON, THEN I AM** **_SURE_ ** **!”**

 

"You… have a point. And the only way for his soul to 'smell' like a dragon's one would be..." the Dragonborn said slowly, turning towards Minato.

 

The blond Hokage tried to offer a reassuring smile.

 

"Aaah, I can't deal with this!" his brother yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "I find out from and undead dragon that I've a brother… and he's  _ dead _ ! Oh, and I'm dying too!"

 

Apparently, his smile had not been as reassuring as he had hoped.

 

“Look, I know it’s not exactly something you find out every day, but—”

 

“Wait a moment,” his brother interrupted him. Again. Seriously, it was becoming a habit and they had met just ten minutes ago. “If you’re here… that means…”

 

“That my soul is trapped here?” Minato asked rhetorically, shrugging. “Yes.”

 

“Who did this to you?” the older-looking blond asked, growling.

 

That was another question that Minato was expecting. And once again, there was no other way to explain it without being blunt.

 

“ _ I _ did,” he stated.

 

Minato had expected the silence, the visible shock, and the open wide mouth.

 

He hadn’t expected the punch sailing towards his face. Which he easily dodged anyway.

 

“You idiotic, imbecile, moronic, stupid  _ FOOL _ !” his twin snarled, without stopping to try to hit him.

 

His movements were not sloppy, and far above the level of a civilian, but they were not what had been expecting when he’d heard of his brother, the great warrior of an unknown land.

 

Even a genin would have a fair chance against him, if the fight was a only-taijutsu—

 

**“FUS!”**

 

Minato felt the violent push, and used it to put some distance between himself and his enraged brother, landing gracefully.

 

So  _ this _ was the power of the Voice of which Durnehviir had spoke. Impressive, and even faster than a jutsu.

 

His brother had started to slowly advance towards him, cracking his knuckles.

 

“Please, nii—Please, brother! Calm yourself! I had good reason to—”

 

**“WULD NAH KEST!”** and the enraged Dragonborn was right in front of him, snarling, a fist raised.

 

Minato barely dodged it. Whatever that shout was, it was more or less on the level of a shunshin.

 

“ _ Reason _ ?! What reason could you possibly have?  _ POWER _ ?!” the fuming blond hissed, still pressing his attack. “Did you hope that making a deal with the Ideal Masters would increase your magical might?!” 

 

Alright, that was enough.

 

Minato punched his still-living brother in the gut, knocking the breath out of him.

 

The Yondaime didn’t know how that was possible, since the man was not physically present inside the Shinigami’s stomach, but he didn’t care.

 

“I did what I did because I had no choice. There was no option left,” he said coldly, with just enough remorse in his voice.

 

His brother just growled quietly as he gasped for air.

 

“No choice? No other option but to condemn yourself to  _ this _ ?!”

 

There was a flicker around the man’s hands, and a spray of lightning was aimed towards Minato.

 

But the Yondaime was not in front of the Dragonborn anymore. Tendrils of electricity zapped at the ground, throwing up sand wherever they hit.

 

“Calm down,” Minato said, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He had shunshined behind him as he had started to prepare that jutsu—no, not jutsu. Spell. He had to remember the difference. Spells were much faster to use, not requiring the more complex handsigns that jutsu did.

 

There was also the difference between chakra and magicka, but this wasn’t the time to delve into that.

 

“It’s true, I condemned myself to pass all my afterlife in this place,” Minato said in a gentle but firm tone, hoping to finally tranquilize his long-lost sibling. “But in doing so … I saved thousands of lives, who otherwise would surely be lost.”

 

For a moment, his twin’s stance became more tense. Minato wondered if it was because of his explanation or a reaction to his speed.

 

“That,” the man said, turning his head towards him, “is a good enough reason. But what happened to force you to such a choice? A siege?”

 

“Not exactly… you see—”

 

**“Oblaan? It’s over already?”** the dragon demanded, with a bored tone.  **“I was enjoying seeing the Dovahkiin beaten.”**

 

“Beaten my ass,” the man said, turning to face Minato with a slight grin. “So… you are my brother?”

 

“Yes, I am,” Minato said, happy that the hostility was now gone.

 

“I’m Conrad, by the way,” his brother said, offering his hand.

 

“Yeah, I know that,” Minato replied, shaking his sibling’s hand. “Durnehviir and some other souls told me that. I am Namikaze Minato.”

 

“Na-mika-ze?” Conrad said, slowly, trying the unfamiliar sounds. “Well, Namikaze, why have you asked our rotting friend to take me here at the first chance he could?”

 

**“I am here, Dovah,”** the dragon said, not liking being ignored.

 

“Err, Namikaze is not my name, it’s the surname,” minato said sheepishly. 

 

“What? Why did you introduce yourself like that, then?” his brother asked, confused.

 

Right. There were various cultural differences between them… how to explain this…

 

“You see, in the place where I grew up, it’s customary to introduce yourself using the surname first.”

 

“That’s… a strange tradition, you know,” Conrad said, blinking. “Where did you grow up? Who gave you that name? I’ve never heard of such a thing, and I’ve travelled a lot.”

 

“A land far away from Skyrim. Actually, far away from Tamriel.”

 

“What?” Conrad asked, flatly. He seemed torn between incredulity and confusion.

 

“I’m not sure how, exactly, but I was found in a shipwreck that washed up on the shores of the Elemental Nations.”

 

“Never heard of them,” his brother said. The confusion had won and was clearly visible on his face.

 

“They’re very far, far across the ocean. Don’t ask me  _ which  _ ocean because I haven’t figured that out yet. As for my name, well… it was given to me at the orphanage, I presume.”

 

“Orphanage?” Conrad asked, his face falling.

 

“Well, yes. I passed my childhood in one and… wait,” Minato trailed off, realizing that something was wrong from his brother’s eyes. “You too…?”

 

“No, no… I lived with Father until I was… seventeen or something. But he never talked about our mother, he refused to,” Conrad said, with a mournful tone.

 

“How is our father?” Minato asked, with a pang of jealousy. True, he could feel that Conrad had hoped to know about their mother, but at least he had known one of their parents.

 

“I don’t know,” Conrad whispered.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t know! When I came back to Skyrim, two years after I left, Helgen...that was the village where we lived...was burned down,” Conrad replied, hastily. “I’ve met only three other survivors from that day. I have no idea if Father is still alive.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, sincerely. “How was he? Was he… a good father?”

 

“Yes,” his brother replied, after almost a full minute of silence. “Yes he was. Is. Whatever. He’s just… not an easy man to live with.”

 

Minato wanted to ask more questions, so much more, but the pain in his brother’s eyes made him hold his tongue.

 

“What kind of spell did you use to get behind me that fast?” Conrad asked, probably to change the subject. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

“Oh, that was not a spell. It was just a shunshin, a jutsu—”

  
“A what?” his brother asked, confused once again.

 

“Please Conrad, stop interrupting me. It’s a… look, it’s complicated to explain, but you basically you pump your chakra into—right, you don’t know what chakra is… it’s like magicka… only it’s not. You don’t  _ die _ when you run out of magicka right? And you can’t restore chakra with a potion,” Minato rambled “But now that I think about it, shinobi never  _ tried _ to create potions. Only poisons. And antidotes for the poisons. We got only those soldier pills, and they’re dangerous—”

 

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

 

“Are you always that vulgar?”

 

“You should see me when I drink.”

 

“You should avoid doing that, you know. It’s not good for you,” Minato scolded.   
  
“Great. I get a  _ dead _ brother, and not even half an hour later I’m already receiving a lecture about—” Conrad started, before trailing off, looking at his hands, freezing with widened eyes.

 

They were fading.

 

“Durnehviir!” the Nord called. “What’s going on?!”

 

**“You’re waking,”** the dragon said, apparently not really interested.  **“Your Kopraan, your body is not dead. Your Zii is going back to it.”**

 

“What?!” Minato shouted, panicking. “Already?”

 

Conrad was now fading quickly, he was little more than a floating torso, but that didn’t seem to cause him physical pain.

 

The brothers met each other’s eyes, knowing that they would probably never see each other again. 

 

There were so many things Minato would have wanted tell his brother, so many things that he wished to learn, but he knew there was no more time.

 

He flashed through a quick combination of handsigns, required for the jutsu he had prepared  _ especially _ for the occasion, and slammed his right hand on Conrad’s face.

 

There was a burst of energy, and Conrad  _ screamed _ as the tendrils of chakra burned a picture inside his mind.

 

“What the  _ FUCK _ ?! Why did you—”

 

“There is no time!” Minato interrupted him. “It will help you find the place I’m from. You  _ must _ go there! Tell them about the masked man that attacked the village twelve years ago! Help them! Help Konoha! Help—”

 

Before he could finish his request, there was a blinding light, and what was left of Conrad’s spiritual form soared to the sky, like fireworks in a summer festival.

 

“—my son…” Minato whispered, fully knowing that his brother had not heard it.

 

Silence descended once again on the arena, now occupied only by a dragon unable to die and the lost soul of the Yondaime Hokage.

 

“ _ FUCK _ !” Minato’s voice thundered in frustration, at such volumes that even the spirits far away from the place heard its echo.

 

**“You should have asked your request at the very beginning, Joor,”** Durnehviir remarked after a few of minutes of silence where the Yondaime had just sat in the grey sand.

 

Minato looked at the dragon straight in the eyes, flooding the area with killing intent.

 

All those years… for probably nothing. There was no guarantee with his brother would follow his request, after all. He had not given him enough details, or reasons to.

 

**“Do not direct your Rahgot, your rage towards me, shinobi. It was your own fault.”**

 

Yes, it was. The dragon was right.    
  
Such an opportunity,  _ wasted _ , and all because he had to get so  _ emotive _ instead of—

 

**“No Paak, don’t feel shame. Every Joor would have done the same. The Dovahkiin will grant your Waan, I know this.”**

 

“How can you be so sure?” he asked, staring into the dragon’s general direction.

 

**“He had always been… curious. Vomindok, the unknown, had always fascinated him. It still does. It is because of his curiosity that his Laas has been so… interesting.”**

 

Minato said nothing as the dragon slowly got up, but inwardly he was relieved. 

 

For the first time after his death, he had hope for his son and for his village.

 

**“Now, the pact among us is over. I granted your request, and now I demand my payment.”**

 

“That would be… what? Six months of battle, without stopping?” he smiled bitterly.

 

**“** **_Eight_ ** **,”** Durnehviir corrected.  **“Come now, Yondaime Hokage. Show me what you can do when your fury is unleashed!”**

 

Minato’s grin was pure evil. If the dragon wanted a real fight, he would give him a real fight.

 

He needed to vent, after all.  
  


 

* * *

  
  
Conrad woke up.

 

This time, he was hurting over his whole body, and and he was feeling cold too.

 

Even under the thick layer of furs.

 

Wait. Furs?

 

He moved groggily his head, disturbed by the loud, constant noise of  _ something _ moving. The ground itself felt like it was bouncing and rolling, sending flashes of pain all over his back, irritating the bruises where the warhammer had hit him.

 

He opened his eyes and saw the sky moving in front of him. The sudden light and the ache of whatever Minato had done were doing a mess of his head—

 

Wait!   
  
Minato!

 

Was that just a dream? Could it have been true?

 

Or had it been just a weird,  _ really _ weird near-death experience?

 

… Maybe he could summon Durnehviir again and ask him, just to be sure.

 

“He’s awake!” someone shouted. He didn’t recognize the voice, but from the tone he could tell that they were actually  _ happy  _ he wasn’t dead.

 

“What?  _ Now _ ?” another voice said. This one was familiar, but he couldn’t put a face to it. 

 

“There’s a patrol coming from behind the hill. Cover him!”

 

He felt something heavy being pulled over his body and his head. Darkness.

 

“Now be  _ quiet _ ,” the familiar voice hissed.

 

Conrad had no idea what was going on, but he realized something when he heard the sound of the horses being forced to slow down.

 

He was on a wagon. Someone had found him and saved him.

 

He wondered if, had he died, he would have remained in the Soul Cairn.

 

If he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing.

 

He heard someone ordering to the wagon to halt, and once they stopped, someone started to ask questions.

 

“Who are you? What business to you have on the roads of the Whiterun hold?” a gruff voice said.

 

Whiterun hold? But he had lost consciousness in the Hjalmarch. How much time had he been knocked out?

 

“Me and my wife are trappers, good sir,” the familiar voice said, changing his voice to sound the most uneducated as possible. “We’re going to sell our pelts to Whiterun. See? They’re good pelts. I can’t make a lot for them in Rorickstead.”

 

“And why are you escorted by four armed mercenaries?” the gruff voice asked, suspiciously.

 

“Well, sir, it’s a lot of pelts. Bandits could try to steal them, yessir. And kill us, too.”

 

Other questions followed, but Conrad could feel his mind getting foggy again.

He tried to focus, but his body was really in bad shape, he was tired, and he was hungry.

 

The Dragonborn slowly but surely swept back to into the blissful unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

He woke up to the smell of stew and sweetrolls.

 

“Hey! Give it back!” someone shouted.

  
Conrad opened slowly his eyes, and noticed that it was night, the stars were greeting him. He felt the heat of a campfire in his proximity.

 

Somewhere, someone snorted.

  
“What? Are you  _ really _ going to say that someone stole your sweetroll?”

 

There was a collective laugh at that. Not too loud, but it was clear that the joke had eased the tension of the people in the camp.

 

Now, where in Oblivion was he? And who saved him?

 

He rolled onto his side. His legs hurt like two Riften bitches, and he grunted in pain. He had forgotten about that wound.

 

“Oh, welcome back, boss,” the familiar voice said. “How sweet of you to join us.”

 

Conrad’s head snapped in the direction of the speaker. He immediately recognized him.

 

“Haming. I’m not your boss,” he said, nodding towards the young hunter.

 

The young man shrugged, and Conrad knew that he would just ignore his protest. Again. Haming was one of the few survivors of Alduin’s attack at Helgen, along with Conrad and other two people that they knew off. Maybe that, and the idea that the Dragonborn was from his own, now destroyed and almost forgotten village, had sealed the archer’s loyalty towards the older Nord.

 

After all, people tended to be loyal towards those that killed the dragon that had killed their parents.

 

“Where are we?”

 

“An old bandit lair, between Whiterun’s and Falkreath’s holds,” Haming replied, filling a plate with steaming stew. “Not exactly one of our most fancy hideouts, boss. But it’s safe.”

 

Cornad grunted, and looked around. 

 

They were in a cave, one wide enough to have a nice living space for all of them.

 

The air was cool, and even the faintest sounds echoed through the place’s walls.

 

Conrad hoped that they had chosen a good point to hide the wagon and the beasts they were using to drag it, otherwise their presence would have been much less discrete. 

 

Besides him and Haming, there were other five people.

 

One of them, to his surprise, was the innkeeper that had tried to poison him. The woman was sitting in an angle of the cave, eating alone.    
  
He had no problems with that.

 

The other four, though…

 

They were looking at him with  _ those _ eyes.   
  
Those eyes, almost bulged out, that were looking at him like he was some kind of fucking  _ god _ descended on the Mundus to save them all.    
  
And he had saved them all. 

 

The problem was that now they were expecting to be saved again, and had chosen to fight at his side.

  
Unlike most of the continent, actually. Poor bastards.

 

That didn’t ease the Dragonborn’s worries. The resistance against the Thalmor didn’t need fanatics ready to rally behind his shadow.

 

No matter what Delphine said.

 

Haming passed a portion of stew towards him, and Conrad accepted it with a nod, before starting to practically devour the dish.

“Our… partners discovered the mole, and dealt with him,” the archer started.

 

Conrad nodded.  Among the group inside the cave, only him and Conrad were aware of the Blade’s existence, with Conrad being actually a member of the order. 

 

The others were instead ‘resistance fighters’, which was a term used by the Blades to describe their allies in the fight against the Thalmor. Organized a little better than bandits’ bands, and sometime with a little more morality than the raiders.     
  


It was necessary, because their struggle against the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion had to be fought with guerrilla tactics, on all the provinces.

 

So the fighters could not know about the Blades’ existence. It could have been a disaster. Every group of fighters was not aware of the other groups, for security reasons.

 

Every Blade agent supervised a bunch of this parties, coordinating their effort in the territory.

 

Haming was one of those agents, Conrad himself had recruited him.

 

“So, we were sent to fetch you before the Thalmor got you, but they had days of advantage,” the hunter kept explaining. “The Thalmor won our race.”

 

Conrad snorted at that, watching the bandages wrapping his palms, where the Justiciar’s blade had cut deep.

 

“By the way, boss. Nice work with that,” the young man smirked “News about how an entire  _ company _ of Thalmor soldiers disappeared spread fast. There are patrols everywhere, scaring the jarls shitless.” 

 

Great. Just great.

He had given the Thalmor an excuse to put  _ more  _ troops into the Imperial Province.

 

Maybe in the other ones, too.

 

The archer kept talking, pointing towards the woman sitting alone at a brief distance away..

 

“It was her, Feida, that saved you, you know.”

 

Conrad turned towards the woman, arching an eyebrow curiously.

 

“I waited, and waited,” she started, “until the battle outside was over. And after that...I waited more. Once I was sure that nothing was moving out there...I peeked through the door. There were so many bodies…”

 

For a few minutes the only sound in the cave was the cracking of the flames. It was clear that the woman was not used to violence.

 

One of the armed men placed a log into the fire.

 

“I found you, barely alive,” the woman continued. “You were laying in a pool of your frozen blood… your legs were a mess. I gave you one of your potions, and dragged you inside the inn. It wasn’t easy. You’re quite heavy.” 

 

“We arrived a few hours later,” Haming started again. “We loaded you on a wagon we stole and took you away from there, the fastest we could.”

 

Conrad massaged his temples, having finished his stew.

 

“What about her?” he asked, motioning towards (what was her name?) Feida.

 

“She saw you, and us, so… we gave her the ‘join or die’ option,” the archer said sheepishly. 

 

“We don’t have a ‘join or die’ option, kid.”

 

“She didn’t know that,” Haming replied, smirking.

 

“It’s fine,” Feida interrupted. “After that fiasco, the Thalmor would have hunted me down anyway. Either I stay with you guys, or I’m dead.”

 

“Whatever,” Conrad snorted. Only to add something quickly when he saw the annoyed look Haming gave him. “We’ll find a use for you, I suppose.”

 

“I’m a good cook, and—”

 

“Stop it. It’s not  _ my _ job to find what you can do,” he interrupted, ignoring the woman’s offended expression and turning towards the young archer. “Where is my stuff?”

 

“We hid your bags and your metallic junk under the pelts and—”

 

“ _ Junk _ ?!” Conrad exclaimed, indignant. “My nordic carved armour is  _ not _ junk!”

 

“With all those scratches and dents, it looks like a piece of junk, boss,” the archer smirked. “Oh, and I’ve managed to save your axe, too. And your walking stick.”

 

“It’s not a walking stick, it’s a mage’s staff! A mage staff  _ carved _ to look like a walking stick, to not be recognized for what it is!” Conrad seethed, tired of having to correct his self-proclaimed minion about the nature of the totem pole. Again.

 

He winced, his head was throbbing now. At first, when he had woken up, he had thought it was because of the exhaustion, his wounds or both. 

 

But when he closed his eyes, he could vividly see… something. 

 

Four symbols, exotic-looking and with an unknown meaning, gleaming in the dark of his closed eyelids. 

 

The encounter in the Soul Cairn had really happened. And Minato had done, or given, something to him.

 

“Just admit it, boss. Sooner or later, you’ll have to—”

 

“Paper,” he interrupted harshly. “And ink. Now.”

 

Haming looked at him for a few seconds, confused from this unusual reaction during their traditional banter, but gestured towards his subordinates neverless.

 

He heard someone rummage somewhere as he kept massaging his temples.

 

“Here it is, boss. Do you have to write a message or—”

 

“Later,” Conrad hissed, snatching the pen and paper sheet. He started scribbling furiously, slightly put off by the unfamiliar symbols.

 

“Whatever you say, boss,” Haming sighed, before getting closer to him and starting to whisper. “Look, I’ve received orders from Delphine. I’m to take you to the ruins of the Cloud Ruler Temple, in Cyrodiil, before the borders will become impassable because of the checkpoints—”

 

“Shush, Haming. You’re distracting me,” Conrad said, discarding the paper sheet, unsatisfied with the result.

 

“But—”

 

“I said,  _ shut up _ , Haming!”

 

Haming fell silent, knowing that whatever he was doing, was somehow important.

 

Once Conrad was finished, he examined his handiwork. Scribbled on the parchment, the four symbols were almost gleaming, the light of the fire reflected off the fresh ink.

 

He had no idea what he was supposed to do with this. But he would find out, with time.

 

“I won’t go there, no matter what Delphine says.”

 

“But… they’re looking for you  _ everywhere _ ! You’re gravely wounded, you have to hide—”

 

“I  _ will _ hide, but I have stuff to do, and I know where I have to go to do the necessary research. And you’ll take me there.”

 

“Delphine won’t be happy about this, boss.”

 

“Like I care about what the old hag thinks—” he said, only to drift when he saw Haming’s worried face.

 

“Alright, alright! I’ll write a letter to her and tell her that it’s not your fault, boy. Happy?! Now gather your things and give the orders to your men, and whatever her name is. We’re moving.”

 

“Moving? To where?”

 

“To Winterhold.”

 

 


	4. Simpler in Hindsight

****  
Winterhold was almost exactly as he remembered it.   
  
Cold, freezing, and ugly.

 

At least it wasn’t snowing. Yet.

 

But there were differences, which was expected after all the time he had not visited. It was the  _ kind _ of differences that was surprising him.

 

New buildings had been erected, mostly small wooden houses, and even a few shops. There were more people around, and the whole settlement seemed to be  _ booming _ .

 

“What happened here? The jarl ban all the taxes?” he asked as Haming helped him get down from the wagon.

 

“Why don’t you ask him? I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

 

“I have other things to do,” he said, hobbling over with his crutch. The wounds on the legs were not healed yet, even with the use of magic.

 

“Yes, you told us this. But what are  _ we _ supposed to do?” the young archer asked, gesturing to his fighters and what-was-her-name… Feida, or something like that.

 

“Drink something in the inn. Find out about what’s going on in the region. Don’t draw attention to yourself. The usual.”

 

“What about your stuff? The junk and the—”   
  
“I will send someone to take my belongings, among which the ancient armour stands out,” he said drily.

 

“Whatever you say, boss. Are you sure you don’t want a hand with—”

 

“I bet that the place has still a policy about ‘mages only’, even if the town has changed. I’ll go alone.”

 

“Suit yourself, boss. Join us at the inn later?”   
  
“I’ll try,” Conrad said, as he started to limp towards the College, at an extremely slow pace.

 

As he proceeded on the well-worn road, he absorbed all the sounds he had never heard here, before.   
  


A cacophony of hooves and rusty spokes, of hammers on hot metal, and loud, brash voices that filled the air.

 

All things that were found in other settlements.

But there was one thing that was missing. There were no childish laughs.

 

There were no children. 

 

How was it possible for a city that had gained so many inhabitants and seemed to be in an expanding stage to have no children?

 

As he struggled to think of a good reason for this, Conrad suddenly stopped.

He felt his honed instincts kicking in, and his free hand went to the handle of his axe, concealed under the heavy fur mantle he had been given by Haming.

 

He had found himself under the scrutiny of a small number of onlookers who were lingering around the entrance of a tavern, mugs and flagons in hand.

 

And weapons on their belts.

 

Since when had Winterhold had more than one inn, anyway?

 

They looked like seasoned fighters, their eyes were too shifty for Conrad’s tastes, and they were interested in him.

 

That was never good.

 

Was it because he was a ‘new’ arrival in town, or for other reasons?

 

Conrad was suddenly happy that his cowl was concealing the scarred side of his face from their view.

 

Now that he thought about it, something seemed off ever since they had arrived, and now he realized what it was.

 

Everyone was carrying a weapon.  _ Everyone _ .

 

What had happened to the dying town?

 

“What are you looking at?” he growled, giving his best angry Nord performance. He was sure that he could beat them if they tried anything funny.

 

But without his armour on, he felt so exposed. Walking with it on would have been asking for trouble for his wounded legs.

 

“Heh, another ‘tough guy’,” one of the group snarked, derision dripping from his words.

 

Conrad blinked at him, stupefied. Had this tavern trash just—

 

“Look at him. He can barely  _ stand _ !” another laughed, to be quickly joined by his companions.

 

The tension seemed to evaporate completely as they forgot about him and turned back to their drinks.

 

On any other day, Conrad would have taught them a lesson. In his younger days, he would have  _ crushed _ them. He could feel his soul, his  _ dragon _ soul, screaming in outrage, eager to rain down his righteous fury on these  _ weaklings _ who dared to insult him.

 

But he couldn’t risk being arrested or kicked out of the town.

  
He had things to do, and this was not worth it.

 

Grumbling, he swallowed his pride and resumed his walk towards the College.

 

At least Haming and the others would pass unnoticed around here.

 

* * *

 

A pair of hooded figures were walking along the arcade that surrounded the College’s courtyard. They were both wearing the clothes associated with the apprentices of the school, but while one of them was walking in long, elegant strides, the other did so in an undignified manner, nervousness showing with each of her steps.

 

“I tell you, Beta, you worry too much,” the controlled one said.

 

“But what if they expel me because I can’t do it?!” his companion asked, panic in her voice.

 

“None have ever been expelled from the College because they were less than adequate in Restoration. Calm down!”

 

She went ahead and did the opposite.

 

“It could happen, Sven! I could be the first! I could—”

 

“What’s going on?” the young mage asked suddenly, looking ahead of his companion.

 

“I’m having a panic attack, that’s what’s going on!”   
  
“No, not you,” Sven said, gesturing to the entry of the courtyard. “ _ There. _ ”

 

Beta followed her friend’s line of sight and noticed the commotion at the entrance of the courtyard, right in front of the statue that greeted the newcomers to the College.

 

A group of students of various classes were staring too something, whispering to each other frantically.   
  
They heard yelling, but the little flock of scholars were obstructing their view.

 

“What do you think has happened?” Beta asked. Her friend kept moving.

 

“Probably another sellsword that tried to sneak into the College while the bridge wasn’t being watched. Come on, let’s check.”

 

As they approached their fellow students, they could hear the voice of one of the senior students—for the good of her, Beta couldn’t remember his name—intimidating a stranger into leaving.

 

The stranger was a tall, blond-bearded Nord around his fortieth winter, leaning heavily on a crutch. A hooded fur mantle concealed his attire, but Beta saw an axe strapped to his belt.

 

“I insist that you, sir, evacuate the property,” the senior apprentice said, almost disdainfully.

 

“And  _ I _ insist that you step aside, before I break your nose,” the stranger said in a gruff voice.

 

“Told you,” Sven whispered. “Typical sellsword.”

 

“That’s an  _ axe _ , Sven,” she replied.

 

“So what? Axe, sword, same thing.”

 

“Access to the College of Winterhold is currently restricted to its  _ members _ , sir. So if you will not leave, I will be forced to—”   
  
“I would love to see you try…  _ mageling _ ,” the stranger snarled.

 

“I’m warning you! If you don’t vacate the College  _ now _ , I’ll be forced to  _ make _ you vacate it!”

 

“Come on, Beta. Let’s go,” Sven said, having lost interest just like a few other students.    
  
Reluctantly, the Nord girl followed him. 

 

“Are you sure it will be fine? That guy could attack them.”

 

“They can handle it. We have stuff to do, and it wouldn’t be the first time a nobody was kicked out of he—”

 

**“FUS!”**

 

The sound resounded along the arcade, alongside the startled yells of a few students.

 

Silence followed, quickly substituted by expressions of confusion and awe.

 

“Impossible,” Beta whispered. The only person still able to use the Thu’um, besides the Greybeards, was—

 

She turned, only to see that the stranger was plowing through her fellow students who were utterly still, their eyes widened in surprise. The senior apprentice was flat on the ground, slowly getting up, still in shock.

 

All of the novices were whispering like a bunch of gossipers, but a single word was on everyone’s lips.

 

“Dragonborn,” Beta said, never turning her sight from the living legend that was walking right in her direction.

 

Well, more like  _ limping _ in her direction, but that didn’t matter in her opinion.

 

She was sure that she was going to have another panic attack.

 

“You!” the limping legend exclaimed, pointing in her general direction. Beta wasn’t sure if he was pointing at her or Sven, but she was too panicked to care. “Tell me where the Archmage is! And someone explain to me why the bridge hasn’t been repaired yet after all these years!”

 

* * *

 

“You have always known how to make grand entrances, Conrad. Tea?” Mirabelle Ervine asked, from the other side of her desk in her private quarters.   
  
“Yes, please. I was  _ freezing _ on that bridge,” he replied gratefully. The long trip on the snow hadn’t helped.

 

“I’ve never met a Nord that hates the cold like you do,” the Archmage said, as she poured a cup for Conrad and one for herself.   
  
“I’m not a typical Nord,” he snorted.   
  
“You use an axe, you’re proud of your beard, and you love mead so much that you’d like to  _ swim _ into it,” the older woman said as she put down the kettle on a wooden coaster.   
  
“Your point?” Conrad said, sniffing his cup’s content.   
  
“Around here, that makes you a Nord. Especially in the eyes of the students used to dealing with the new… townsfolk.”

 

“Just because I’m not a skinny little shit doesn’t make me a barbarian! I mean, look at Urag gro-Shub. By the way, how is the old Orc?”

 

“Wait… you didn’t know?” Mirabelle asked, becoming really serious.   
  
A long pause followed between the two long-time acquaintances.

 

“When?” Something in Conrad’s voice sounded a bit broken at that moment.   
  
“He died two summers ago. Passed away in his sleep,” the Archmage replied sadly, lowering her gaze.

 

Mirabelle stared at him, as Conrad sipped silently from his cup.

 

He could feel moisture forming in his eyes. 

 

"Sorry, something got in my eyes," he said, drying the unshed tears. Time to change subject. "What happened at the city?"

 

“It grew up,” the woman said, taking a sip of her own.

 

“... I can see that. Care to explain  _ why _ ? There was nothing around of interest here, aside from the College.”

 

“That’s simple, Conrad. It’s your fault.”

 

Conrad blinked, taken aback.

 

“ _ My  _ fault?!”

 

“You’re the Dragonborn of legend, the man who slew Alduin, the hero of the Siege of Whiterun and of the Battle of Cold Rock Pass. And who knows how many other things you’ve done. Everyone knows you’re a Nord spellcaster, everyone knows that you were trained right  _ here _ . Did you really think that people wouldn’t flock to your fame?”

 

“I think I need something stronger than this,” he muttered, placing the half-empty tea cup on the desk.

 

“Third drawer behind you,” Mirabelle said, taking a sip of tea.

 

“And they all want to come to the college?!" Conrad asked, as he retrieved a bottle of sujamma from the counter.

 

"At the start, yes. We gained quite a few students, we even had to build a few more rooms."

 

"I thought that magic was scorned in Skyrim. Even more than the other imperial provinces. Not even my fame justifies such a flow of new apprentices," Conrad said skeptically as he poured the liquor in his own cup.

 

"It's not. Magic is still distrusted in the holds, but lot of students came from the rest of the Empire, too. But we couldn't take all of them."

 

"So why’s the city full of armed thugs? I doubt  _ they _ want to start using magic."

 

"They came with the mining company. A lot of new mines were opened along the Sea of Ghosts—"

 

"And they were paid to assure the mines’ safety, I get it. Wait... Who owns the mines?"

 

Mirabelle's face tightened in a grimace.

 

“The jarl does. It was his idea to revive the city, and convince all the families that followed to stay, since the College would not help. As if we could,” she snorted. “And when news spread, people with troubled pasts started showing up here to find a fresh start. When the new inhabitants are not working or guarding the mines, they usually laze around the town or in one of the inns. From what I gathered, it was difficult to keep order in the first months.”   
  
“So what did our young jarl do?” he asked, tasting the sujamma in his mouth.

 

“He gave them a purpose. Now, they are useful for various things.”   
  
“What things?”   
  
“Fighting bandits, hunting down monsters, search for treasures in the ruins on the coast, or explore what remains of the old Winterhold.”

 

“Are you saying… that the jarl turned Winterhold in a city of  _ adventurers _ ?” 

 

“Yes,” Mirabelle said, with a glum expression.

 

“That… that is _ hilarious _ ,” he said, barely containing his laugh.

 

“I don’t find it entertaining at all. We get harassed from them every time we get in town, and—”

 

“Alright, alright. Having your isolated College sitting beside a town full of people that raid ruins for coin is bad for you, I get it. Let’s speak of more serious matters, now,” Conrad said, pouring again the sujamma. “The Thalmor.”

 

“Ah. Took you long enough,” Mirabelle stated, proffering her cup.

 

“Did they cause problems for the College?” he asked, serving the liquor to the Archmage.

 

The ‘because of me’ went unsaid.

 

“They tried, but not for long,” she said, savoring the exotic liquor. “We may be a little school of magic, but they know that is better to avoid the ire of mages. And you have been absent for… nine years?”

 

“Eight and a half,” Conrad corrected drily.

 

“Yes, well, with your long-term absence, we could avoid suspicion from the Justiciars, even with your… independent activities.”

 

“Independent activities? That’s the understatement of the year, Mirabelle.”

 

“Why did you come back, Conrad?” she sighed, knowing too well that this was no courtesy visit. “I suppose it’s not to finally accept the title of Arch-Mage, right?”

 

“You guessed right,” Conrad said with a small smirk.

 

“This is the fourth time it’s been offered to you, you know.”

 

“And for the fourth time, I refuse it. You know too well that I can’t manage this place, since I’m always on the move, and my name’s at the top of the Thalmor’s hit-list.”

 

“That’s a shame. But at least I get to keep the biggest room around here,” Mirabelle smirked while leaning back on her seat. “Now spit it out.”

 

“Did you heard of what happened in the Hjaalmarch?”

 

“Just that a few days ago, the Thalmor Embassy sent more patrols inland. And I think that it’s better if I don’t know anything else.”

 

“Good. Let’s just say that I need to stay in a quiet and cozy place for a while. And since I had some research to do, I decided to make a visit.”

 

“Research? What kind of research?” Mirabelle asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

“About these runes,” Conrad said, retrieving the parchment he had written in that cave in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t really need it anymore. He could clearly see the symbols every time he closed his eyes.

 

He silently observed as Mirabelle Ervine, the Archmage of Winterhold College, raised an eyebrow in confusion at the paper sheet spread on the desk.

 

“Conrad.” 

 

“Yes?” he asked, distractedly pouring another serving of sujamma in his cup.

 

“What in Oblivion is this?”

 

“I have no idea,” the man responded. “But I want to find out.”

 

“Is that even writing? Even the dragon language looks decipherable,” the woman said, leaning over to take a closer look. “This is just… gibberish!”

 

“Pretty much, yes.”   
  
“Where did you find it? Was it inscribed in a stone? A mural? In one of the ancient tombs where you like do dwell?”

 

“Do you  _ really _ want to know?” he asked, smirking. 

 

Mirabelle snorted.

 

“I think you know the answer to that.”   
  
“Good, because I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

 

He knew that Mirabelle had an open mind concerning the supernatural, being a mage and the Archmage to boot, but saying things about long-dead brothers’ lost souls and undead dragons didn’t sound very smart to him. Who would have believed it?   
  
Even  _ he _ was still trying to make up his mind about it.

 

“Still… are you sure you need the College resources for your research? I don’t think—”

 

“It has something to do with magic, or at least I think so.”   
  
“Conrad, this looks like chicken-scratch.” 

 

“... Yes. Your point?”

 

“Why would you even  _ think _ it has something to do with magic?!”

 

“It has to do about how I found it, and I can’t—”

 

“You can’t tell me, I got it,” Mirabelle said, slightly exasperated. 

 

“The library of the Arcaneum is my best shot at finding answers. Will I be able to access it?”

 

“Of course you will, Conrad. You are still part of this College, after all,” the Archmage smirked. “There will be some… conditions, of course.”

 

Conrad blinked, unsure if he had heard her right.

 

“Conditions?”   
  
“It’s been quite a lot since you last came here in person, or even wrote to us for that matter. So, you’ll have to… make amends.”

 

“Come on, Mirabelle. You know I couldn’t—”

 

“Since your research will take some time, I have the perfect task for you in mind. As I said to you earlier, we now have an unprecedented number of students.”   
  
“So?” he asked, even if he had a bad feeling about Mirabelle’s ramblings.

 

“Conrad, students outnumber teachers twenty to one. Our lessons are now not focused on small classes, and—”

 

“Am I dreaming? Mirabelle Ervine, lamenting about the number of new apprentices she has to manage?” he snickered. 

Mirabelle was less than amused.   
  


“Do you really think the quality of our education system hasn’t declined? Do you really think—”   
  
“Alright, alright. I see your point, but what does that have to do with me?”

 

“ _ You _ are  _ more _ than qualified to take a few of our classes, to make the lives of our regular instructors a little easier.”

 

There was a small pause as the two mages, Archmage and four-time candidate for the title, met each other’s eyes.

 

It should be noted that one of them looked distinctly panicked.

 

“No way in  _ Oblivion _ , Mirabelle.”   
  
“Oh,  _ yes _ . You are going to take some apprentices, Conrad.”   
  
“Give me one,  _ valid  _ reason why I should—”

 

* * *

 

“Welcome, apprentices. I am Conrad Harissen, and I’ll be your… mentor in this class,” Conrad growled, doing his best to ignore the youngsters’ wide eyes that were almost surrounding him.

 

There were so many of them, especially if he compared this lot with his own class when he’d joined the College. They looked so young… which make him feel older than he really was. And they were  _ whispering _ and looking at him in  _ awe _ .

 

He already hated them.

 

With the aid of his crutch, he started to pace in front of the students assembled in the Hall of Elements, the place traditionally used for the spellcasting classes and practice. Conrad wanted to look them right in the eyes, hoping they would get scared and never show up anymore.

 

“Today, I’ll show you the basic of the most known school of magic: Destruction,” he said, trying to ignore the pains coming from his right leg. He made a mental note to speak with Colette Marence later, the wound was healing too slowly for his liking.    
  
“As you may know,” he said, “Destruction has only one use and purpose. To do harm to your enemies. Behind all the fancy words, all the theory, all the preparation… it’s a weapon that uses magicka to rain death upon your foes.”

 

To underline that last statement, he made some flames flicker in his free hand, so that all the apprentices could see. That ceased all the whispering at once.

 

“Since I can’t let you kill yourselves, we’ll start with the basics to protect yourselves. That would be the lesser wards to repel a magic attack,” he said, inwardly smiling at the memory of his own first lesson. Tolfdir had been a great teacher, and Conrad still thought fondly of the old man. 

 

“If you have any questions, ask them  _ now _ ,” he said quickly, realizing that he had spaced off for a few seconds.

 

It was obvious that they were intimidated by him, because nobody was asking questions, and most of them were avoiding his gaze. 

 

“Look,” he sighed, “I’m just a teacher here, alright? So, ask a question, I won’t burn you.”   
  
Probably.

 

Slowly, a hand timidly raised among the flock of students. Maybe he could be able to start this, finally.   
  
“Yes, you there. Ask away!”   
  
“Could you tell us about the dragons, master?”

 

* * *

 

“Boss, over here!” Haming waved from his seat inside The Frozen Hearth, as Conrad made his way towards him.

 

“Two weeks without looking for me, boss. I’m wounded!” the younger man wailed as the blond sat at his table.

 

“I was busy. And don’t call me that!”

 

“Relax,” Haming said, passing him a mug of mead. “Nobody’s giving a damn about us. They just want to drink and forget their problems. So, what have you been busy with? Your research?”   
  
“I wish, I wasn’t even able to start my research yet.” Conrad said, gritting his teeth. “I’ve been too busy with teaching a group of talentless rats how to not burn their own fingers with the excess magicka they put into the spell which would make them risk losing control of the power they’re waving around.”

 

“Wait, what?” 

 

“Mirabelle made me a teacher for a bunch of brats who can’t even light a candle on their own.”

 

Haming blinked for a moment, before bursting out laughing.

 

“It’s not funny,” Conrad grunted.

 

“Yes it is! Just wait until I tell Feida and the others—”

 

“Who?” the blond asked, confused.

 

“Feida. You know, the woman who tried to poison you? Because the Thalmor forced her to? Nice curves?”

 

“Oh, her,” he muttered, tasting the mead. “Did you interrogate her? Are you sure her story is genuine and she’s not a double agent planted on us?”

 

“I’ve sent a few letters while you were playing with the mages. Her story is good, so she’s just another victim of the Thalmor—”

 

“—or she has a damn good cover. We have seen it happen before.”   
  
“I’ll have to keep an eye on her, right?”   
  
“Damn straight you’ll have to. Just don’t get distracted by those  _ nice curves _ , kid.”

 

“Look who’s talking. Boss, if I remember correctly, a few years ago, with that brunette from Riften—”

 

Conrad frowned, looking Haming right in the eyes, not uttering a single word.

 

Whatever statement or joke the young archer wanted to make, it died in his throat as he slightly leaned away from his friend and mentor with widened, worried eyes.   
  


“Er, what I meant to say is, yeah, good advice?” the younger man quickly back peddled, not looking him in the eyes.

 

“Yes, I thought so. Now, tell me what have you done in the last weeks, and what you’ve found out about the town.”

 

“Well… By the way, your eyes are slitted, boss. Let's start from the guys then… I found them a job!”

 

“What job? No, let me guess. Guards at one of the mines?”

 

Haming had the decency to look slightly offended.

 

“No boss! What do you take me for? I’m a  _ freelancer _ !”   
  
“Oh, it’s one of  _ those _ jobs…”   
  


“Hey! It’s a good deal! Me and the boys are paid to hunt down monsters around the city. And bandits, if they become too pesky, but it hasn’t happened so far.”

 

“I doubt the brigands would become too pesky around this town, between the mages and the biting cold. What can you tell me about those mines?”   
  


“They’re scattered on the whole hold. But most of the ores are not close to the surface, so the miners must dig deep. And I mean,  _ deep _ .”

 

“Fuck,” the older man said, gulping another sip from the mug. “How long, before the excavation catches the attention of the Falmer?”   
  
“Worst or best chance?”   
  
“Never been an optimist, Haming,” Conrad said, cleaning his beard from the remaining drops of mead.   
  
“Less than one year. Then some miners will start to disappear.”

 

“It always starts that way,” he admitted, grimly.

 

“The jarl won’t listen to us, you know. The city is expanding, it’s  _ growing _ , all thanks to those mines.”

 

“Then we do what we always do. We hope for the best, but prepare for the worst,” Conrad simply stated.

 

“How?” Haming asked after a small pause.

 

“You have already inserted your men here, their cover is solid for now. Form a cell, and recruit more.”

 

“Recruit—Boss, the people here are mostly mercenaries, sellswords...Shit, I’m sure that some people were bandits, once! And when they’re not working, they’re either drunk or in a brothel!”   
  
“I know. Can you blame them?”   
  
Haming’s jaw went open wide, before he was able to formulate his next question.   
  
“How can you think of recruiting them?”   
  
“Not  _ all _ of them, of course!”

 

“So we—”

 

“So  _ you _ need to observe them. Look, see those two guys at the bar? The Orc and the Dunmer? What do you think of them?”   
  
Haming followed his eyes, and looked at a pair of mercenaries who were enjoying their own drink without caring about the people around, not even each other.

 

“I don’t know,” the younger man admitted after a few seconds. “A green guy who loves heavy shields and a skilled archer?”

 

“The Orc is a former legionnaire. Do you see the tattoo on his left arm? It’s barely visible, but it’s there. He probably deserted during the Civil War, and now he’s hiding in this frozen hole,” Conrad said, not even looking away from his drink. “The Dunmer, however, has killed a lot of people with his bow. You can tell by the way he’s carrying it, and how he moves, like a predator. That guy kills for sport, Haming. Be careful around him.” 

 

Haming looked at him, and then at the pair at the bar, speechless.

 

“How did you—”

 

“The eyes, Haming. Look how he watches everyone. He’s imagining how fun it would be to aim an arrow at them. His eyes are surprisingly honest.”

 

Then he took another sip, which by the counts of most other people was actually a very, very large gulp.

 

“Where’d you learn how to do it? This… looking at people and  _ reading _ them.”   
  
“Riften,” Conrad said drily, and his tone didn’t permit further questions about that. 

 

“Alright. So, we prepare the city for the inevitable meeting with the Falmer, in secrecy?”   
  
“People still think that the blind bastards are like goblin tribes, just an occasional nuisance. Or just a fable to scare the children. They won’t listen. But maybe establishing a group here is a good thing.“

 

“Really? How so, boss?”   
  
“In the last few years, we’ve ignored the western holds, contentrating our efforts on the regions where the Thalmor are more influential. But we can’t keep going on like this forever. We need more people, weapons, food—”   
  
“You’re starting to sound like Delphine, boss,” Haming smirked.

 

“I take offense to that.”

 

“Speaking of her, boss… I’ve received a letter from her. For you.”

 

“Great. Something about the fact that I’ve not gone to Cyrodiil to hide in the ruins of that temple?”

 

“Something like that. Do you want to see it now or…” Haming rambled, pointing towards the inn’s patrons.

 

“Just give it to me. I’ll surely need a drink after reading it,” Conrad said, urging the archer with a gesture of his hand.

 

As Haming extracted a parchment from his satchel, Conrad swiftly snatched it and began scanning the content.

 

After a few seconds of reading the letter, Conrad flinched.

 

“Yep,” Haming acknowledged.

 

“Well, at least she’s happy that I went to a place that the Thalmor avoid.”

 

* * *

That night, once he was back in his room inside the teachers’ quarters, Conrad dreamed of leaves.

 

* * *

 

“This, my unworthy students, is the College’s library, better known as the Arcanaeum. I suspect that a few of you could be already know this, but I wanted to be sure.”

 

Conrad ignored the students’ various expressions of curiosity and enthusiasm—or lack thereof—as he guided the brats into the room full of tomes and ancient texts.

 

His leg was still hurting, but at least he didn’t need a crutch anymore. The healing sessions with Colette were doing their job, along his own limited knowledge. 

 

“You might be curious as to why I’ve decided to move our lesson on Alteration here, instead of meeting you in the usual place, the Hall of Elements. A mage should study not only how to cast his spells, but also the theory behind them. In addition, even knowledge of not-magical nature could be useful once you’ll leave the College. Trust me on this one,” he said, starting to take a few books from the shelves. “So, instead of exploring the great possible applications of the basic Alteration spells, we’ll do a session in the library.”

 

“Is this really necessary, master?” one of the students said. Sten, Sven, something like that. “I mean, we already know the theory, and it’s not that—”   
  
“Tell me, whatever your name is, do you know how the Dragon Priests died out?”

 

“My name is Sven!” the youngster sputtered indignantly. “After months with us, you would think that—”   
  
“The  _ question _ , Sven. It’s ancient Skyrim history, you know.”

 

“I—I don’t know, master,” the apprentice admitted, blushing.

 

A few snickers could be heard around, but Conrad was sure that very few of them knew the answer.   
  
“Right, so you can all see my point. You never know when this,” he said, gesturing to the bookshelves surrounding him and his class, “may become useful.”

 

“How could knowing how the Dragon Priests died out be useful?!”   
  
“Various ways. It could save you from another humiliation from your teacher, for example,” Conrad said, as he placed the books he had gathered on a desk.   
  


This time, the snickers were a little louder. 

 

“Should we focus on something in particular, master?” a student asked. 

 

What was his name? Not that Conrad cared.

 

“Choose on your own. I’m not here to tell you what you should read. Just don’t bother me too much.”

 

“Oh, I see now,” Sven said, smirking like he had resolved some kind of enigma. “You just want an excuse to do your own research, don’t you master?”

 

He knew? But how?

 

“What research?” one of the girls asked.

 

“Those runes that master Conrad has been researching since the day he came back to the College. With no result so far,” Sven explained smugly.

 

Shit, the little twit was on to him.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,  _ student _ .”   
  
“I’ve heard the other teachers—”   
  
“The other teachers should  _ teach _ , instead of chatting like midwives,” he growled, and a few of the students looked a little intimidated by him. But they were starting to get used to it. Conrad didn’t like that at all.

 

“I’m just saying that it’s something we could do on our own time, instead of not doing our usual lessons,” the young Imperial insisted. A few voices expressed their support for his statement.

 

“True,” Conrad conceded. “Too bad that your whole bunch is terribly lazy on your own time, just hanging around in the campus. Or going to the brothel. Yes, I’m speaking to  _ you _ , third guy in the last row! I saw you sneaking out the other day! Who do you think you’re fooling?”

 

The apprentice in question looked like he wanted to die instantly. The girls around him shuffled away, a little disgusted.   
  
“Alright class! Enough drama for today. Pick a book, or even better, a lot of books, and start studying! Except for you, Sven. You’re going to read  _ this _ , and I’m expecting you to memorize its contents,” he said, taking a small volume from a shelf and placing it in the lad’s hands.

 

“‘Uncommon Tastes, by the Gourmet’?” Sven read from the cover, before realizing, “Master, this… this is a  _ cookbook _ !”

  
“A fine guide to the Bretonian cuisine, actually,” Conrad deadpanned, starting to search for the other tomes he needed. 

 

“Why should I study a book about cooking?!” 

 

“Do you know any spell that can cook a fine Bretonian soufflé? Because I don’t.”

 

Not having an answer for that absurd statement, the young Imperial went to look for a seat, grumbling under his breath. It was then that Conrad noticed one of the other students, looking lost among the shelves.

 

What was her name? Stupid kids…

 

“You! Bertha, right?”   
  
“B-Beta, master Conard, sir,” whispered the poor thing. She looked like a deer who had seen the hunter aiming a crossbow at its neck.

 

“Whatever. Come here, lass.”

 

Slowly the young apprentice came closer to him, and with each step she looked closer to having a panic attack.

 

“You’re still having trouble with your Restoration spells, right?” he asked as he reached for a volume.

 

“Yes, sir. I do. I’m sorry, I promise that—”

 

“Here,” Conrad said, giving the poor girl a copy of ‘Racial Phylogeny’. “This should help. Study it and experiment a little with your spells.”

 

The young girl was speechless for a few seconds, but slowly reached for the book.

 

“Thanks, master,” she whispered, before departing in long, nervous strides.

 

Satisfied that his good deed for the day was done, Conrad opened one of the tomes he had selected.

 

“Pardon me, master,” a raspy voice said behind him.

 

Conrad snapped his head, turning suddenly. One of the apprentices, a Khajiit, was standing right behind him. How did he sneak up on him unnoticed?!   
  
“Ta’Sava has problems with Illusion. Would master recommend a book about that?”

 

Stupid kids. The only thing stopping him from outright throwing books at the students as they pestered him with questions about what texts they should study was the respect he had for Urag gro-Shoub’s memory.   
  
That, and the certainty that the old Orc’s ghost would rise from the grave if any dared to damage his precious books.

 

* * *

 

“Mirabelle? A word, if you please?” Kaden asked as the Mirabelle crossed his path.

 

“Of course, my old friend, walk with me. You seem distressed, is there something wrong?”   
  
“It’s about… well, it’s about Conrad Harissen.”

 

“I see,” Mirabelle said, frowning slightly. “Has he done something that troubles you?”

 

“Yes, but it’s not something that he did. More like…  _ how _ he did it. And how he’s still doing it.”

 

“Kaden, what are you talking about?” 

 

“His teaching methods are… unorthodox at best.”

 

“Oh, yes, I can see that,” Mirabelle smirked. Kaden had studied and started his career as a Teacher during the years of Conrad’s absence, so it was natural that he would not have been used to him.

 

“The other day he forced all his class to  _ exercise _ , Mirabelle!” Kaden said as he stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “While throwing spells! And—”

 

“I’m sure that a little exercise will not hurt our students, Kaden. It could even be good for them. Actually, I’m sure that a few of them are enjoying it.”

 

“And he’s so… so unlike a mage! I swear, if you didn’t force him to, he would never wear his robes. And he’s rude, and—”

 

“Even if he’s not a typical mage, I want you to remember that he’s never been ‘typical’. And that he was considered for the title of Archmage on multiple occasions, long before my name was even brought up. And the only reason he’s—”

 

“RUN! HE’S CRAZY!” a voice resounded in the hallway.

 

As both teacher and Archmage turned their heads, they saw a small group of students sprinting in their direction.

 

“Ta’Sava did not sign up for this!” a young Khajiit said frantically as he passed the stupefied pair.

 

“What—?”

 

“PRACTICAL LESSON?!” another voice thundered. As Conrad came around the corner, his hands cloaked with electricity. “I’LL GIVE YOU MAGGOTS A PRACTICAL LESSON!”

 

He was not gaining on the students, but he was more than making up for that with his lightning bolts.

 

Before the flabbergasted Mirabele and her fellow mage could react, both Conrad and his students were long gone.

 

As Mirabelle turned towards the teacher, she saw that he was looking at her, arching an eyebrow.

  
“He was missing them  _ on purpose _ … I hope,” Mirabelle sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

 

* * *

 

“So, how’s your research going?” Colette asked, while pointing to a student where to move his hand.

 

“No luck so far,” Conrad muttered as he closed and discarded another priceless tome about ancient runes. “And it’s getting on my nerves. It’s been five months, and I’ve still got  _ nothing _ !”

 

“Please, master Conrad, remain calm. Otherwise I will not be able to properly heal the damage to your ligaments,” Beta, the insecure apprentice, said. 

 

Since his leg was still aching, but the damage was now minimal, Colette had asked to use his limb as practice for her own teachings. Outside of the normal studies, of course. So while a number of apprentices in their late teens hovered around his leg, casting pathetically weak spells, he had decided to try to keep going with his own research. After all he didn’t need to move for studying, and after Sven’s little number a few weeks ago, all the campus knew about the mysterious runes.

 

Conrad was aware that the students had started a betting pool about whether he would be able to figure them out or not, and how long it would take.

 

He was reaching for another volume—a fine edition about symbols and their usage in magic of other countries, which was sadly a very limited knowledge—when he felt a weird sensation in the right knee.

 

“Are you sure a group of apprentices is good enough for this, Colette?”   
  
“Masteeeer!” Beta wailed, her fellow students looking as offended as she.

 

“Bear with us for a little more, Conrad. Then you’ll be fine,” the Restoration teacher assured.

 

“I hope so,” he said, before turning to the study group in front of him. “If I can’t walk straight after this, I’m sending a Storm Atronach in your rooms tonight. Again.”

 

“No, you will not. Not after Mirabelle’s telling-off,” the old Breton woman said.

 

“Spoilsport. They didn’t know about  _ that _ ,” Conrad said, as he saw the apprentices relaxing a little.

 

“You know, you would have healed at least two months early if you had practiced this on your own. Is your knowledge of the healing spells so rusted?”   
  
“It’s not rusted. I was just… busy doing other stuff. For various years.”

 

“Sure you were,” the healer mused, smiling slightly. “There, all done. You can stop now, students. Conrad, try to flex the leg please.”

 

Nodding, Conrad slowly got up, testing his limb’s recovered strength. He flexed it, made a few steps and finally put all his weight on it.

 

“Well?” Beta asked, nervously as always.

 

“No pain, no aches… I’m finally fine. Thank you, students,” he proclaimed, with a slight smile. “Now, where are my pants?”

 

“On the desk behind you, master.”   
  
“Why, thank you,” Conrad said as he started to put them on. “Now—”

 

“SVEN HAS MADE HIS SOUFFLÉ FOR EVERYONE, PEOPLE! COME TO  _ EAT _ !”

 

To say that everyone was startled would be an understatement. The students jumped, Colette looked alarmed, and Conrad was searching for a missing weapon on his belt.

 

Ta’Sava was standing right in the middle of the crowd, no one having noticed his arrival. His furry eyes twitched in amusement, and he beamed at his peeved peers mockingly.

 

“Damn Khajiit,” Conrad grumbled. “I should never have taught you that spell of invisibility.”

 

Said Khajiit only grinned even more.

 

“Alright, kids. Go enjoy your meal before it gets cold,” Colette said to the students, who gladly started to gather their few belongings. “And don’t be too hard with Ta’Sava, Conrad. After all, you’re  _ proud _ of him and the others.”   
  
“HA! As if!” he snorted in a maybe too forceful manner. Too bad that his eyes were probably betraying his denial.

 

Damn azure pool-like eyes.

 

“I think that young Sven missed his calling. He would have been an excellent chef,” Colette remarked as the group, teachers and apprentices alike walked towards the room’s exit.

 

“Don’t tell him that, master Colette! I had to force him to start using those recipes!” Beta protested.

 

“AH” Ta’Sava barked. “Beta just had to look at Sven with her big, mushy eyes!”   
  


Conrad couldn’t help but chuckle at the poor girl’s expense, watching as her face turned red while she tried to defend herself from that statement.

 

“Yeah,” another student joined in. “Sven ended up popping his soufflé!”

 

As the students’ chatter started to become louder, Conrad found himself remaining a little behind the others.

 

Their voices grew dimmer and dimmer, until they were but echoes bouncing off the stone walls of the ancient building. Conrad suddenly realized that he hadn’t yet set foot outside of his room.

 

A sense of…  _ wrongness _ had intruded his mind, and he couldn’t explain why.

 

He looked around. The room looked perfectly normal, not a single thing out of place. Then where did this horrible sensation come—

 

Behind him!   
  
Conrad  _ whirled _ , using the momentum to swing a power fist towards this intruder.

 

Fortunately the far shorter Khajiit managed to dodge, ducking right under it.

 

“Master, master! It is just your disciple!” Ta’Sava pleaded, throwing up his empty hands to show that he carried no weapon.

 

Conrad remained silent for a few seconds, his other hand still raised to strike. Obviously it wasn’t the young student the cause of his uneasiness, because he could still feel it, reverberating all over the room.

 

“How many times have I told you to not sneak on me when I’m alone, Ta’Sava?” he asked. Nice save. Maybe the apprentice would not take him for a madman.

 

“Ta’Sava is sorry, master. Ta’Sava was sent to fetch master Conrad when master Colette realized that he had not followed us,” the beastfolk explained. “Is...master alright? Master Conrad looks...suddenly troubled.”

 

“I… I am fine, Ta’Sava,” he replied. Or at least he hoped to be. “I was just—”

 

As Conrad was searching for an answer, he felt the room getting slightly colder, like heat was  _ fleeing _ the room. A change too sudden to be natural.

 

“Master, what—?”   
  
Then the smell of rotten fish came.

 

“Fuck,” Conrad hissed. He had to get the kid out of here,  _ now _ . “Something has come up, Ta’Sava. It may take a while, I’m afraid.”

 

Conrad hoped that the Khajiit would just take the hint and leave, but apparently the tension in his voice was thick and palpable.

 

“Is Master sure that—”

 

“ _ GO _ , Ta’Sava,” Conrad said, gritting his teeth. “And tell everyone that for tonight, this room is off limits. 

 

The student’s ears went flat as the chill reached him, and he felt the same sense of unease that had assaulted Conrad only moments earlier. His pupils dilated and his fur bristled while he looked around for a threat he couldn’t see. Talos, the kid was going to panic.

 

“Go,” the blond Nord said, posing a hand on the Khajiit’s shoulder, trying to shake him out of it.

  
Ta’Sava didn’t need to be told again. With a last look back to his teacher, he fled from the room. 

 

Conrad slammed shut the door behind him, locking it.

 

That’s when the chuckles started, a deep, rich sound.

 

“My, my, Dragonborn. Perhaps your student’s fear was quite… warranted,” a condescending voice resounded behind his back.

 

“What. Do. You. Want,” he said, without turning. He was walking on the edge between cold fury and unleashed rage.

 

“What do  _ I  _ want? Oh, no, Last of the Dragonborns. That is not the right question.”

 

"And what  _ is _ the right question... Hermaeus Mora?” he asked, turning towards the floating, formless mass of slick darkness and eyes. “You are not welcome here, or anywhere around me. You should  _ know _ that—"

 

"I have what you seek, Dragonborn," the daedric prince said, silencing him for a few seconds.

 

"... Of course. I should have thought as much,” Conrad sighed. “You know every secret, don't you?"

 

"That is not a matter of importance. I have the knowledge you require, and it could be yours as well... for a price," it stated smugly, as though it were savouring the moment.

 

"Oh? And that would be...?" the Nord mage asked, inwardly cautious of the poisoned honey that he was being offered.

 

"The price? All you need to do is come work for me once you've completed this little... quest," the Lord of Secrets whispered all around him, while a tendril touched Conrad’s shoulder, like it wanted to assure him.

 

"No matter what you ask, or what I would gain,” Conrad snapped, slapping the cold tentacle of darkness. “I will  _ not _ serve you. I made that more than clear in Solstheim, years ago." 

 

This was Conrad’s statement, but inside him...inside him, a small part of him was tempted to accept. It would have been so  _ simple _ . In five months he had achieved nothing, and he was almost out of options.

 

"So high and mighty,” it  _ hissed _ . And it was a terrible sound. “I suppose I could sweeten the deal with some knowledge about your brother's life, and of the people that took him as one of their own."

 

"You—you knew of… of course you did. You bastard." 

  
Rage blossomed as the words were ripped from his lips. The Daedric Prince had always known about his missing twin, even before they met on the icy island that was now part of Vvenderfell.

 

"I know  _ everything _ , Dragonborn. The more a thing is unknown or secret, the more precious it is for me,” Hermaeus Mora explained with a condescending tone. “Now, make your choice. Serve me and gain that which you desire, or drown in your own ignorance."

 

A pressure engulfed the room as the Daedric Lord made his presence ever stronger. The pressure was terrible, and Conrad was already feeling his head spin.

 

" _ CHOOSE _ ," it boomed, and the Dragonborn fell on one knee. Like he was pleading, humiliated.

 

No way he would give in.  _ No way in Oblivion _ .

 

"I—” he gasped, “I don't need the help of a mass of floating eyeballs with an ego to figure this out."

 

The pressure was dispelled instantly, as it had never been there. Conrad was able to breathe normally again, but the foul stench of corruption was still present.

 

"You're making a mistake, Dragonborn,” the Deadric Prince said, his— _ its _ —voice seemed more disappointed than angry. Good. “You  _ will  _ serve me in the end. It is inevitable. Why struggle? I could make your life so... easy."

 

Yes, it could. _ It could _ . But—

 

"In your wet dreams,” Conrad growled. “Now get out of my room!"

 

"Very well, but remember, we will meet again—”

 

“Not if I can choose so. Get out.”   
  
“—because in the near future, you will stumble across a great number of secrets…  _ S-rank _ secrets."

 

"What?" Conrad blinked, confused by the unfamiliar term.

 

But the Daedric Prince had left, leaving behind no proof of his presence. Even the foul smell was fading fast.

 

Stumbling, Conrad managed to get on his feet. He had sent a Daedric Prince away, verbally flipping the bird to it. And one of the more dangerous ones to boot.

 

Somehow, this didn’t taste like a victory. The fact that the Lord of Secrets showed an interest in those runes, and Conrad finding out their meaning, was worrisome. 

 

Maybe the thing had an agenda in… wherever his brother had lived? But even then, why ask him? The Dremora should have known that he would refuse, even if the temptation had been great.   
  
A gamble, perhaps?

 

“Minato, what mess have you gotten me into? And I haven’t even started yet,” he sighed.

 

Maybe Sven’s soufflé would raise his spoiled mood. He still had to plan tomorrow’s Alchemy lesson, after all.

 

* * *

 

That night, Conrad simply passed out on his bed once he finally came back in his room, his belly full of mead.

 

In his drunken slumber, he dreamed of four faces of stone, carved on the side of a small mountain.

 

* * *

 

He ignored the whispers, and started the lecture as programmed.

 

"As you may know, before the facts known as the Oblivion Crisis, the Mages Guild was a single organization, widespread on all Tamriel. After the Crisis, and the Thalmor's claims that they had saved the Mundus from the invasion of daedra, the general public started to believe that magic, and all magic users, were somehow responsible for those terrible events,” Conrad said, not really interested if his students were listening to him.

 

The last week after Hermaeus Mora had been terribly stressful and had taken its toll. But it was not the Daedric Prince that had annoyed him.

 

It was the rumors.

 

“Both of these claims… are  _ lies _ ," Conrad growled to the students. Maybe he shouldn't have done that during a lecture, but damn it felt good. 

 

He observed passively the young faces in front of him, who were now focused on his person.

 

"If you wish to know more about the Oblivion Crisis, I suggest you to check the Arcanaeum, or wait until we'll speak about it in another lecture."

 

He remained silent for a few seconds, more absorbed from his own thoughts than from the lecture he was supposed to give.

 

Normally he wouldn't have minded the rumors. He would have just ignored them. Nines knew that there were already a lot about him.

 

“The Mages Guild was dedicated to the study of magic, much like our own College today. Unlike the College of Winterhold, though, they provided their services to the general public.”

 

He didn’t blame Ta’Sava, he really didn’t. The poor kitten been scared out of his fur, and it was not his fault if someone had seen him in such conditions and he hadn’t been able to explain why.

 

“Which mostly means that they financed themselves selling potions and minor magical items and spells. More advanced—and dangerous—knowledge was reserved for the members, who were properly trained by the guild.”

 

Conrad knew that it was influencing him. Because among the frustration of how badly the secret war against the Thalmor was going, being forced to lay low, and the fact that his research going nowhere, he now had to face the worried and even scared expressions of his students.

 

All his problems in the College, though, had origin in his research. His obsession with the runes that Minato had imprinted in his mind, and that somehow  _ Hermaeus Mora  _ was interested in giving to him that knowledge, for its own agenda.

 

Speaking of those, why couldn’t the dead idiot implant more stuff in his head with such a spell?! An explanation, a way to use them... _ something _ .

 

But no, he had messed with Conrad’s brain to give him four symbols and a wish from beyond the grave. And Conrad was an idiot like his deceased brother apparently, because he  _ wanted _ to fulfill that request.

 

“This doesn’t mean that they were a magic shop spread on all Tamriel. I just want you to understand how different the perception of magic was back then,” he said, trying to concentrate again on the lecture. “They were mostly researchers, studious, archivists. But some of them were pioneers, who explored new ways to apply the power of the magicka, creating most of the spells that we still use these days.”

 

It didn’t work. Somehow, he couldn’t put himself in the—boring, he admitted that much—lesson about the past glories of the Mages Guild.

 

His mind kept thinking about the unexpected visit from Hermaeus Mora.

 

“Their first concern, as stated from their charter…was ensuring that all of Tamriel would benefit from their knowledge,” he sighed, more because of his inner turmoil than from a genuine nostalgia for such days.

 

He had to admit it, after almost six months of work. He was stuck at the very first step, because the Arcanaeum couldn’t help him. Whatever those runes were, no mage had ever seen them and put them on text, and without some reference, it could take years to decipher them and discover their purpose.

 

“The philosophy and politics of the guild changed various times since its founding during the Second Era. The change that we can still painfully feel, after two centuries, is the ban of the necromancy applied by the Arch-Mage Hannibal Traven," he continued, before doing a totally planned pause. "I can see that you're confused. How could a decision like that, done for the good reasons, influence us badly? Anyone wants to take a guess?"

 

A few seconds of silence passed. Strangely, Conrad couldn't decide what was the worse alternative: his students' newfound fear of him, or their inability to gather a conclusion from the given information.

 

"Fine, you asked for this. You!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger in a random direction, without even looking. "Answer the question."

 

The poor guy squeaked, like if Conrad had pointed a finger that was charging a deadly spell in his direction.

 

"It's, uh, it is because—" the student managed to ramble, somehow, "It is because the, um, necromantic cults?"

 

Conrad blinked. The little rabbit had managed to reply, after all.

 

"Exactly. You've all probably heard of them. Hiding in ruins, in caves, in the wild. Experimenting with things that should not be disturbed," he droned to his students, before changing his voice to a dangerous tone. "Should you ever join one of those bands of so-called 'mages' who only wish to use their power to inflict harm on passerbies, much like common bandits… I will hunt you down myself."

 

Maybe he was being too hard on them. But he didn't care anymore. He was angry, and he wanted to vent.

 

Even if he was angry at himself.

 

“Now, to continue our lecture,” he said, ignoring the shock on some of his student’s faces. “The various cults and groups of outlaw spellcasters have the same origin. During the Oblivion Crisis, the Mages Guild had to face their own crisis. Mannimarco.”

 

A part of him, a very small part of him, thankfully easily squashed...was regretting refusing the deal with The Lord of Secrets.

 

“Mannimarco, who had secretly survived for centuries, gathered a large number of followers after the ban of the necromancy,” Conrad said forcefully, not wanting to dwell on those thoughts. “His forces attacked, weakened and effectively crippled the Mages Guild, who was forced to rely on their own strength since the Empire was busy dealing with the invasion of Daedra.”

 

His mind just couldn’t let it go, of course.    
  
Because he had hoped to be a better person. He was not a knight on a white stallion, rescuing damsels in distress, but he had always thought that he would have been able to resist such an obvious  _ temptation _ .

 

Or at least, resist it with more firmness.

 

“Mannimarco was finally destroyed in a duel with Hannibal Traven’s successor, but the troubles for the guild were not over. As I briefly told you before, people’s perception of magic started to change after the Oblivion Crisis, and the Mages Guild were among the suspects. Even if it was widely known to the higher-ups of the Empire’s government that the responsibilities were the cult known as Mythic Dawn, accusations were made.”

 

Fuck, why couldn't those thoughts leave him alone? This was the reason why he hated to deal with Daedric Princes. They always messed with his head. 

 

Even the two he could at least  _ tolerate _ .

 

And Hermaeus Mora reminded him of a too personal matter.

 

“In the end, the Mages Guild was dissolved. A schism occured, in more ways that you may think. Two organizations raised by the ancient guild’s ashes: the Synod, and the College of Whispers. These two groups are rivals today, competing with one other in the pursue of ancient, often forgotten knowledge. But they’re not the only ones, no. Even our College used to be part of the Mages Guild, and like the College, there are now some small, independent magic schools scattered all around Tamriel.”

 

And of course, he had been tempted because his research hadn't advanced at all.

 

Damn, he was thinking in circles now.

 

Repeating the same things over and over again was a symptom of madness, right?

 

It wasn't like he could ask Minato again. The portal to enter inside the Soul Cairn was inside  Castle Volkihar, deep within Thalmor territory.

 

With the whole "laying low" situation, it wasn't a good idea.

 

And he couldn't summon Durnehviir to ask  _ him  _ to ask Minato. The dragon probably would have asked for a fight in exchange, and doing such a thing in an inhabited area was an even worse idea than hiking in hostile ground while the enemy was actively searching for him.

 

And he would  _ not _ attempt to enter the Soul Cairn like the last time, almost dying. He doubted it would have worked without the dragon’s help, which would mean, a fight.

 

He hadn’t felt this frustrated, helpless and  _ angry _ since the woman he loved had tried to  _ kill _ him—

 

“Master…?” a voice dared to interrupt him.

 

“WHAT?!” he snapped viciously.

 

Only to realize that he had lashed against the poor, concerned Beta. The girl instinctively retracted, her expression full of hurt.

 

It felt like he had just kicked a puppy.

 

Why were all looking at him like that? Maybe he had overdone it, but—

 

He had stopped talking, completely lost in his thoughts. How long had he remained silent, before Beta, of all people, had found the courage to talk to him?  

 

Conrad understood perfectly that he was losing control, that he was  _ letting  _ himself lose control.

 

What if he hadn't just screamed at the poor girl? What if he had reacted as if an enemy had sneaked up on him?

 

He had to stay away from the kids, for their own good.

 

* * *

 

"Conrad, what in Oblivion is  _ wrong  _ with you?!"

 

"Mirabelle, please..."

 

"Yelling at the students like that? You're not their blasted drill-master! This is a COLLEGE, Conrad. A MAGE'S college. Or have you forgotten?"

 

"So, throwing fireballs at them is fine, but not yelling at them?"

 

Mirabelle's features darkened. "Conrad, do not test my patience."

 

"Alright, sorry, Mirabelle. It's just—I don't really know. That's the problem."

 

"Conrad, what am I going to do with you?" the Archmage sighed, rubbing her eyes in frustration. 

 

"I don't know. Maybe I should leave. I can pack my things in an hour."

 

"That would be for the best, Conrad," Mirabelle nodded gravely. "Feel free to come back once you've… cleared your mind. Take care of whatever you need to."

 

Conrad nodded in return, and without any further words, he left the Arch-Mage's office.

 

He debated immediately going towards his room to leave, but he decided against it.

 

He had left a little mess in the Arcanaeum the previous night, too tired to put the books in the right shelves. Since the new librarian was not… efficient like the old Orc had been, he supposed he could check it.

 

Then it was just a matter of prepare his bag, getting out of the robes Mirabelle had forced him to wear for months, and… and what? 

 

He doubted he could complete his research, unless he wanted to try the Arcane University of the Imperial City. But he had no contacts there. It would be a fruitless journey.

 

No, he knew what he would do. He would find a nice spot to lay low without being a problem, wait until the Thalmor didn't expect anything, and go straight to Serana's former home.

 

Maybe even ask Serana to join for a ride.

 

Then he would punch Minato in his incorporeal face, over and over again, while screaming "Six months wasted!"

 

And only then would he ask to his brother to explain better.

 

If entering into Castle Volkihar revealed itself to be too risky…

 

Well, he had tried, at least. He could just go back doing what he had done for the last years. Even if the idea of surrendering didn't suit him at all.

 

As he entered the College’s library, he found himself face to face with the last person he wanted to see now.

 

Beta was frozen in place a few meters away, a stock of books and scrolls balanced precariously in her hands.

 

She stared at him, moving her lips like she wanted to say something.

 

Conrad just ignored her and went to collect the books he had consulted. They were exactly how he had left them.

 

“Master,” the girl finally managed to say, after just staring at him for some minutes. “I—”

 

“I’m not your master anymore, Beta. It’s better this way,” he interrupted her, without looking away from the books he was piling. “You kids will get a better teacher. A more patient one.”

 

“We don’t  _ want _ a different teacher. We just want to know what happened to you, Master Conrad.”

 

Damn, why couldn’t she just… hate him, fear him, or avoid him? This was unbearable. 

 

“It’s complicated, Beta. And as I said, I will not be your teacher anymore. I’m leaving the College today.”

 

Silence descended again in the Arcanaeum, interrupted only by the soft shuffle of paper.

 

“It has to do with you being… well… the Dragonborn?” she asked, timidly.

 

“Not really. Yes. Whatever… Look, Beta. This is not… easy for me. Could you just leave me alone?”

 

Once again, he was rewarded with a hurt expression. Why had he started to  _ care _ for these kids?!

 

“I was here before you, Master,” Beta sniffed stubbornly, clutching her papers tightly.

 

“You know what? You’re right. I’ll go then,” Conrad said, putting the books on a shelf, not really caring if the placement was correct. Urag gro-Shub would probably punish his not enough diligent successor, anyway. He would have been long gone before the old Orc raised from the grave to punish him.

 

“Do you really have to leave  _ now _ ?!” the girl exclaimed while he started to move towards the exit.

 

“The sooner, the better,” he said, not looking back once. He reached for the door’s handle.

 

“I—I… Since you’re leaving, could you at least help me with this research I need to do for a class!?”

 

What.

 

He slowly turned towards the girl, knowing that the right now he had the most incredulous face that Nirn had ever seen.

 

“What did you say?” he asked, unable to understand why the girl had asked him that.

 

“I asked… if you would help me with a research of my own? For the extra curriculum?” 

  
  


“What are you working on?” he sighed, caving in. Those pleading eyes could have convinced a troll to not eat the girl.

 

“I… I’m reading these old scrolls,” Beta said, not believing that it had worked. “They describe a spell of… Mysticism?”

 

“Ah, yes. The so called ‘Lost School’,” he mused, slowly coming closer to the girl to check the texts she was showing him.

 

“Lost?” Beta blinked.

 

“Well, have you ever heard of it before?” Conrad smirked, grimly. “After the fall of the Mages Guild, a lot of things changed. Some traditions were lost, as well. Mysticism was a school that was slowly abandoned. But its spells, or the majority of them, were incorporated in other schools, mostly Alteration.”

 

“Oh,” was all that Beta managed to say.

 

“Now, this spell you are studying?”

 

“Here it is,” she said, handing over a large, thick scroll. “It’s supposed to allow the user to teleport himself, but—”

 

“Let me guess,” Conrad interrupted her after checking the details of the scroll. “You can’t teleport at all, right?”   
  
Beta’s eyes widened, and she looked to panic for a second before deciding to go for embarrassment.

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry that I’m not that good.”   
  
“It’s not your fault, Beta,” he sighed. Seriously, the girl was a ball of yarn made of insecurities. “The fact is, you have only half of the spell.”   
  
“Huh?”   
  
“Which doesn’t surprise me, since a lot of the old Mysticism lore has been scattered and half-forgotten,” he mused. “I’ve heard of this spell. It’s composed of two separate ones. This is quite a good find, Beta. Be sure to tell to Mirabelle about this, if she doesn’t already know.”

 

“But… what use is it? If it’s just half of a spell…”

 

“Well, I’m pretty sure that with enough time, a mage could reverse-engineer the other half. See, this part of the spell, ‘Mark’, is the one that is casted first. It creates a magic rune in a location or an item. The other part of the spell, that you don’t have, allows the user to teleport back to where the first rune—”

 

It was right then that an idea bright as a fireball exploded in Conrad’s brain.

 

And for a few, long seconds, he just remained completely silent, staring at the scroll in his hand.

 

“Master… you’re kinda scaring me again,” Beta tried to laugh, but her voice was full of apprehension.

 

Conrad blinked, and stared at her, and then at the scroll.

 

“Sorry, sorry, I just… realized something,” he half-whispered, more talking to himself than the girl. “Would you mind if I borrow this… for… a while?”

 

“But… my research?” the student asked, confused.

 

“No matter! You just made top of  _ all _ my classes as far as I’m concerned!”

 

“What? But… weren’t you leaving?”

 

“Leaving?!” Conrad exclaimed loudly. “Preposterous! I have a research to finish first!”

 

And with that, he left the poor, confused Beta in the Arcanaeum.    
  
He was back in the game.

 

* * *

 

A loud knock disturbed him. He was tempted to shout the good old Fus-Ro-Dah at the intruder, but sadly he had closed the door from the inside.

 

“Go away! I asked to not be disturbed!” he yelled without stopping scribbling notes on a parchment. 

 

“Masteeer!” a voice lamented from behind the thick wood barrier. 

 

“Beta, I’ve told you I don’t wish to be disturbed! I’m at a breakthrough, here!”

 

“Ta’Sava told you guys that it was not a good idea.”

 

“Oh, shut up, fur-face! You were worried more than any of us!”   
  
“Does Sven want to start a brawl with Ta’Sava?!” was the angry reply.

 

“Guys, shut up! You’re not helping. Master, you’ve not left your room in days! We’re starting to get worried!”   
  
“I’ll leave when I’m done! Just a few more minutes…”   
  
“Master, it has been two weeks!”

 

“What’s going on here?” a new voice asked. Mirabelle. “Why are you all in front of this door?”   
  


“We’re trying to get master Conrad out of his room, Arch-Mage,” was the explanation given.

 

“Conrad? When did he came back?”   
  
“I never left!” he shouted towards the door. Then he added another scribble on the paper and crossed other two.  “Didn’t you notice?”

 

“What?! Why has no one informed me about—”

 

“How did you even  _ survive _ , master?! What did you eat? Books?!”   
  
“Food is for the weak!” he argued. Also, he  _ had _ eaten. Two days ago. Three. Whatever.

 

“Master… if you come out, we have mead for you.”

 

Conrad remained still for a full minute, not responding to the obvious bait.

 

He went back to his work, giving the last touches to the whole thing.    
  


"Give me that!" Mirabelle ordered. 

 

Then he heard the sound of a bottle emptying.

 

She wouldn't dare...

 

And to his absolute horror, the precious nectar began to trickle in from under the door.

 

"Conrad," Mirabelle said, "If you don't come out right now, this mead will never go past your lips."

 

Conrad gritted his teeth. He was almost done!

 

"Oh, look at that. One bottle down, nine to go."

 

He heard a loud gulping noise. “Ah,  _ delicious _ . There’s nothing like honey mead.”

 

Conrad’s eyes went flat.

 

"Alright, alright! You win! I'm coming!" he replied, hurrying to open to unlock the door.     
  
It was almost time to field-test his newest spell, anyway.

 

As he opened the door, he found himself face to face with a not pleased Arch-Mage who had an empty bottle in her hand.

 

And various students were watching the scene. Conrad absently noted the other bottles, safely in Beta’s hands.

 

“You  _ monster _ ,” he hissed.

 

“What are you doing in my College, Conrad? Didn’t you said that you would leave?”   
  
“I did. Then I changed my mind when I realized how to complete my research!”

 

“Master smells bad,” Ta’Sava lamented, stepping back along his fellow classmates.

 

“Wait, you realized what?”   
  
“No time to explain! Follow me!”

 

“Follow you where?”   
  
“To the roof! And you may want to send someone to clean the pots inside my bedroom.”

 

As he walked in the hallway in the direction of the stairway, he heard Mirabelle ordering to the apprentices to do something about the horrible smell and whatever it originated from.

 

A small fight amongst themselves as to who had to do it. In the end, Sven was shoved forward.

 

He had almost reached the door to the highest place of the College, when Mirabelle—and some of his students, minus Sven—caught up with him.

 

“Conrad! Why are you going to the roof?” the Arch-Mage asked, now more curious about what he had in mind than the fact that he had practically stolen a room for weeks.

 

“Just need to test a spell I researched, and I’m afraid it can’t be done with walls around. Or a roof over your head,” he explained, pushing the door.

 

“A spell that can’t be used inside—Please tell me that you have no intention of experimenting with the Icarian Flight! There are less idiotic ways to kill yourself!”

 

“What? No! I have no intention of imitating a long line of idiots that could not even figure out that they had to  _ land _ . I just need to do this in the open,” he said, stepping in the snow-covered terrace.

 

“Fine, but I expect you to give me an explanation afterwards,” Mirabelle mumbled. 

 

“No promises, but I’ll try,” Conrad said as he stopped right in the middle of the roof.

 

There, the moment of truth. Either he had guessed right, or he had to punch Minato’s ghostly face as soon as possible.

 

Even if he knew that his theory was a longshot, he had to try.

 

Conrad started to charge magicka in both of his hands, ignoring the students watching him curiously, held in place only by a protective gesture from Mirabelle.

 

A azure-white ball of magicka appeared in his hands, looking highly unstable.

 

He kept concentrating on the spell, overcharging it with arcane energies… before releasing it, high above him.

 

The ball of light immediately soared, at high speed, moving in a precise direction…

 

“East,” Conrad whispered, before smirking. “Sneaky little bastard…”

 

“Conrad, was that—”

 

“Wait a moment, please,” he interrupted, charging again the very same spell and releasing another ball of light that imitated the previous one. “Mmh, the direction is constant, so it’s not a fluke.”

 

“Conrad,” Mirabelle said with a hard voice. “What. Was. That.”

 

“It was a clairvoyance spell. A modified version, created by me to cover longer distances, and to search for a precise thing,” he replied, still watching the still visible light that was still moving towards the horizon. “It uses quite a lot of magicka, though.”

 

“The runes you showed me,” Mirabelle realized. “Are you going to explain me why they’re so important to you now?”   
  
“Later, in your office. For now, let’s just say that I think they’re similar to a foreign version of the ancient ‘Mark’ and ‘Recall’ spells. Kids, time for a question of geography,” he said, looking towards his confused students. “What lands lie at east?”

 

“...Vvanderfell?” Beta meekly asked.

 

“Well, yes. But...what lies further? On the other side of the sea?”

 

“Akavir, master Conrad?” Ta’Sava replied, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Indeed,” Conrad sighed. “I am going to need a ship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cringe-at-the-sights-of-my-earlier-writing effect is still happening but I remember that I enjoyed writing this chapter a lot back in the day.
> 
> Here's the omake for it:
> 
> \------------------------
> 
> "Fine, you asked for this. You!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger in a random direction, without even looking. "Answer the question."
> 
> The poor guy squeaked, like if Conrad had pointed a finger that was charging a deadly spell in his direction.
> 
> "It's, uh, it is because—" the student managed to ramble, somehow, "It is because the, um, necromantic cults?"
> 
> "Ten points to Gryffindor!"


	5. Ships, Gold and Journeys

Two figures moved in the cold morning.

 

They were following the White River upstream, along the strait just south of the point where it joined the Sea of Ghosts.

 

The two men were walking towards a precise destination, but they had been forced to take the harder route to reach it. They were proceeding on freshly fallen snow, the older one forging a path through it almost effortlessly, using his staff to keep from slipping.

  
Even if months had passed since that accident in Hjaalmarch, it was still a bad idea to travel the main roads.

 

Technically speaking, Conrad and Haming were not even on any sort of road or a path.   
  
There was  _ nothing _ in the land around the river, besides cold water, cold snow, cold ground and cold rocks.   
  
If you didn’t count wild animals and the fish, of course.

 

But the relative monotony of the trip was not the reason for the silence between the two adventurers. Conrad’s mind was completely focused on his new objective, after months of failed experiments and research that had led nowhere.

  
Just traveling to Akavir would take weeks, maybe months, by sea. But it was the only feasible way to reach the distant land.

 

What he would do once he arrived there, was another problem. He could follow the tracer to find the places his brother had inscribed those mysterious runes, but after that… his plans were nebulous at best.

  
But he had every intention of trying to satisfy his dead brother’s wish, to alert the people that had raised him about that masked man or whatever.

 

And hopefully to find out why Minato—the name still sounded so strange and unfamiliar to him—had been so desperate that he was forced to send his own spirit to the Soul Cairn.    
  


He would have to improvise once he reached Akavir’s shores. 

 

Haming’s state of mind, however…

 

“I hate you, boss,” the younger man spat, glaring at the being that was probably the only other survivor of the inhabitants of Helgen.

 

“Are you really going to be like that the whole way?” Conrad asked.

 

“Probably. I really hate you, you know.”

 

“No, you don’t,” he said dismissively without looking at his protégé. “And if I recall correctly, when we arrived in Winterhold I ordered you to not get distracted by her  _ curves _ .”

 

“I was not distracted! I was keeping my eyes on her,” the archer protested while adjusting the weight of his backpack.

 

“I found you in her bed,” Conrad said smirking. True, discovering that the young hunter did indeed have some interest in the greatest mystery of creation, the woman, had been amusing.

 

“You  _ dragged _ me out of her bed!” Haming pointed out vehemently. “I waited patiently for months— _ while _ executing your orders about what to do with my group, I might add—while you were busy with your research in that fancy College. Then you suddenly decide to drop everything and leave without notice. Couldn’t you have waited one more  _ hour _ ?!”

 

“You should thank me, you know,” Conrad said as he climbed over a small gap. Once steady, he turned and offered his hand to the younger Nord. “Now you’ll be able to tell your children, one day, about the time their uncle Conrad saved you from the clutches of a busty older woman.”    
  
“Feida is only seven years older than me. Almost eight. But I refuse to listen to age jokes from someone that used to fuck a millennia-old vampire,” Haming rebutted, accepting Conrad’s help.

 

“ _ Former _ vampire,” he said, feeling that pointing out such particular was important. He pulled, helping his younger fellow villager.

 

“And by the way,” Haming started again when he’d regained his footing, “my children, if I ever have them, will  _ not _ call you uncle.”

 

“Oh, I’m terribly wounded,” Conrad mocked, as he started to lead again.

 

“They’ll call you grandfather,” the younger man scoffed.

 

It was a dig about his age, Conrad knew. He kept walking in silence, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing it affected him.

 

Still, he was aware of the tiny bit of, badly hidden, pride in Haming’s voice when he had proclaimed such a thing. And he understood the meaning behind it.

 

A small part of him was moved by such declaration.

 

In any case, he punched Haming’s arm when they arrived on a safer ground a few minutes later.

 

Hard.

 

* * *

 

“Here we are,” Conrad said, pointing towards the walled city on the horizon. “Windhelm.”

 

"Oh good. A change of scenery. I'm sick of this river, boss."

 

"We're almost there, Haming. Come on, we're burning daylight,"   

 

"For days, only snow and fish. Snow and fish. I want to eat  _ meat _ !"

 

"Oh, quit your yapping. We're almost there."  

 

For a good hour, the two men marched in silence, one dreaming of juicy, hot slices of roast, the other thinking about his next move.

 

A journey to Akavir was no easy task. Legend said that the last person who had tried had been the Nerevarine.

  
And he had never returned.  _ If  _ that story was even true.

 

Conrad had learned to not completely trust the stories of the Empire of old, but finding a ship and a crew up to the task would still be a pain.

 

As they finally arrived at the gates near twilight, just in time before the guards locked them for the night, he decided that he would not plan too far ahead for this foolish quest of his.

 

No sense in making long-term schemes with so many unknowns. You would get screwed anyway.

 

“Finally,” muttered Haming. “Can we find a tavern, now?”   
  
  
“Yes, yes. Follow me,” the older man said, keeping his pace on the paved road.

 

“Wait, where are you going?” Haming asked, confused. “The Candlehearth Hall is that way.”  
  
  
“I can’t go to that Inn. We’re going to the New Gnisis Cornerclub.”  
  
  
“Oh. Uh, I don’t mind being around Dunmer, boss, you know that, but… why?”  
  
  
“The current owner of the Candlelight Hall used to be a Stormcloak,” he said with a regretful tone.

 

No other explanations were given, or necessary. The short walk to the other inn was as silent as their walk in the snow, if not more.

 

As they passed in front of the closed and barred temple of Talos, Conrad lowered his head in shame.  
  
  


* * *

 

That night, he dreamed of a woman with beautiful red hair.  
  
  
It was not the flame-like red he had seen on other people. Her hair was red like blood. 

 

She was speaking a tongue he could not understand, but she was smiling at him.

 

And her smile was like sunshine.

 

* * *

 

“Stupid dream, stupid leaves, stupid dead brother,” Conrad mumbled as he chewed his breakfast. It was clear that Minato’s spell had done  _ more _ than just plant four funny symbols in his head.   
  
  
He just wished he had told him that it would have messed with his dreams.

 

“What dead brother?” Haming asked in confusion.

 

“Nevermind, it’s a long and crazy story. I’ll tell you later.”

 

“... Fine. So what’s the plan now?” the young archer questioned as he split the dark bread in two rough halves and offering one to the older Nord.

 

“Simple. I have to find a ship,” Conrad said before taking a gulp of ale.

 

“That shouldn’t be a prob—”

  
“Without telling them the destination, yet. Just that it’s far away, it’s risky, and that the ship will beach on a foreign shore.”

  
“Yeah, boss. ‘Simple’. I don’t envy you… What about me?”   
  


Still eating, Conrad just pulled a folded piece of paper from one of his pouches and offered it to Haming.

 

“Boss… what is this?” the young lad asked in confusion after opening it and reading its contents.

 

“A list of provisions that could be useful. You know, food. Ingredients for potions. Scrolls and blank papers. One or two extra weapons. Mead. Stuff like that.”

 

“Can’t I just search for a ship instead?” Haming pleaded.  
  
  
“No.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you crazy, pal? I’m not moving my ship without knowing where!” the Breton merchant said, laughing a little.

 

* * *

 

“Get lost!” the Dunmer said, emphasizing his words with a rude gesture of the hand.

 

* * *

  
  
“Either you tell me where you want to go, or I’m not even letting you on my ship,” the old man that looked like a pirate said, immovable with his arms crossed over his chest.

 

* * *

 

“Wait, don’t I know you?” a woman asked, looking at him with a curious eye. The one not covered by an eyepatch.

 

* * *

  
The man just laughed, hard, for several minutes. Finally, when he seemed at the point of attempted suicide by asphyxiation, he began to regain control of himself. Which required another few minutes.

 

Finally, he spoke to Conrad.  
  
  
“Fuck off!”

 

* * *

 

“Stupid captains, with their stupid ships that I need,” he growled in the dim lighted room of the tavern, clenching his fists on the sides of the table he was sitting at.

 

“No luck, boss?” Haming asked, placing a pair of large sacks on the wooden surface before sitting on across from him.

 

“A whole day, wasted. Nobody is interested in a well-paid journey on an uncharted route without knowing what exactly to expect at our destination.”   
  
“Can’t imagine why…” the younger man said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Did you find everything on the list?” Conrad asked, gesturing to the sacks.

 

“Well, everything but—”

 

“Well, well, well, what a hilarious sight,” a voice interrupted. Turning towards the almost-desert inn’s common room, the two men saw a Dunmer moving slowly towards them. It was the owner of the establishment. The Dunmer was sneering, as he spoke again. “The two bloody Nords are in trouble, uh? Nobody wants to join their crazy adventure?”   
  


Conrad saw Haming’s gaze move from the rude Dunmer to him. He was probably wondering how the older Nord would have reacted to such mockery. 

 

The few patrons inside the inn grew silent, as the innkeeper arrived at the two men’s table, the face set in a frown.

  
“What’s it to you, grey ears?” he growled, narrowing his eyes.  
  
  
The two of them stared each other down, blue and red eyes, for a tense few minutes. Haming seemed on the point of using one of the mugs on the table as an improvised weapon.

 

Then Conrad and the dark elf started laughing, much to Haming’s confusion.

 

The other Dunmer in the inn snickered a little, like they were seeing a familiar scene, before focusing on their drinks again.

 

“Took you long enough to get out of that counter to see an old friend, Malthyr.” 

 

“I had to wait until there were less customers. I run a business, Conrad,” the dark elf said, placing a jug and three cups on the table. “Here, the best matze you’ll find outside of Morrowind.” 

 

“I didn’t ordered it, Mal,” Conrad said, looking at the liquor with confusion.

 

“Nonsense! It’s on the house,” the innkeeper said while serving the two Nords and himself a good portion of the beverage. “This, and more, for the man that killed Ulfric Stormcloak!”

 

Conrad’s jaw clenched. Of all his achievements, that was the one that he regretted the most.

 

Not that Ulfric was exactly a saint. Conrad had even hated the man after he had discovered the agreement with the Thalmor the man had put in place during the Great War.

 

He just wished things could have been different.

 

So as not to offend his Dunmer friend, he accepted the drink.

 

“So, how’s it going, Conrad? The boy with you seems a little shocked,” Malthyr said, gesturing towards Haming that was still looking at them, not even registering the full cup in front of him.

 

“Never mind him, he can’t understand our old inside-joke,” Conrad said, smirking. “Haming, this is Malthyr Elenil, leader of the local Dunmer and owner of this hole—”   
  
“Hey, I take offense in that,” Malthyr scowled again. “It stopped being a hole after I took over. Also, having Brunwulf Free-Winter as a jarl helped.”

 

“I can imagine,” Conrad resumed. “And, Mal, this is Haming. My minion and lackey.”

 

“Hey! I’m only a lackey. Not your minion,” the younger Nord protested.

 

“Sure you are,” Conrad snorted, ignoring the fake affront on Haming’s face. “After all, you just call me ‘boss’ all the time.”

 

“A pleasure, young lad. So, what’s this story about a ship?” Malthyr asked, pulling closer a stool to sit on.

 

“I need to rent one for a few months,” the blond mage simply said.  
  
  
“ _ Rent _ one? What do you want to do? Travel around the continent?”  
  
  
“Something like that. But I can’t tell the captain—or you—the destination until the ship will sail.”  
  
  
“No self-respecting independent captain would accept such a thing. Why don’t you go to speak to the jarl? A lot of people consider you a hero. I bet he could help with an expedition—”  
  
  
“It must remain… unofficial,” Conrad cut him short. “I can’t put attention on Brunwulf. He’s already in the Thalmor’s sights just by being a former Talos worshipper.” 

  
“Former? You should just see how he looks at the barred temple,” Malthyr said, shaking slowly his head. “Alright, no official help, you say? I may—mind you, I  _ may _ —know something that could help you two.”

  
“What do you mean?” Haming asked expectantly, tired of being cut off the conversation.

  
“You see, no self-respecting captain would accept such deal. Unless they were desperate enough for money.”

  
“And do you know of a captain so desperate that hasn’t sold his own ship already?” Conrad asked with evident interest.

 

* * *

 

“I think that is our man,” Conrad whispered, indicating the person that had just left the Candlehearth Hall at a late hour.

 

“How can you tell?” Haming asked in a similar tone, peeking from the alley they were using as a hiding place.

 

“He has the typical walk of a man that is full of debts. Also, he’s a Breton—”

 

“That’s slightly racist, boss.”

 

“—and I saw his face when he passed besides the lantern. He matches with the description Malthyr gave us. Come on,” he concluded, gesturing to the younger Nord to follow him.   
  


Their mark was moving towards the docks in a straight, direct path. It was not a difficult task to remain unnoticed by him even if he stopped continuously to look around.

 

Apparently, he was nervous about something. 

  
Conrad was on the point of calling out to the man, so that they could discuss business, when he noticed a group of people coming out of an alley besides the street for the docks. The small crowd, all nine of them, seemed to be composed of an assorted mix of thugs.  
  
  
The Breton saw them, tensing immediately once he sensed their presence. But instead of running, he stood his ground.

 

One of them, probably the leader, said something. Conrad was too far to hear that, though.   
  


Then they grabbed the Breton captain, who started to struggle, and dragged him like a sack of potatoes inside an alley.

 

“Oh,  _ great _ ,” Conrad grunted.

 

“So, the plan is not just making a good offer to him anymore, boss?”  
  
  
“Did you realize that on your own, or did you just have a hunch?” he asked rhetorically, while moving faster towards the alley where his ticket to Akavir had been yanked.

 

It was then that he heard the yells.

 

“SCUM-FUCKERS! SALT-DRINKERS! YA FILTHY SONS OF CHEAP WHOR—” a voice exclaimed at the top of his lungs, before being silenced by what sounded like a punch.

 

A few coughs, like if the man was not able to breath. Conrad slowly reached the corner and took a peek.

 

The gang of thugs was surrounding the fallen Breton. Most of them were armed with clubs, but a few blades were present on their belts. It was obvious that it was a gang of the bad side of town, the docks, in the middle of their usual business.

 

Reminding people who was boss around here.

 

“You were told that we would have come back for our money, Edvyval,” the ringleader of the gang said. “The fact that you were not able to sell the goods means nothing to me.”

 

“Oh, bite a squig, ya brain-dead fish!” the gasping Breton managed to say, ire in his voice. “I know it was ya and yor pals that stole my cargo. I owe you shit!”

  
The leader smirked, kneeling on the sprawled man.   
  


“You can’t prove that. Nobody will listen to your claims. And you know what that means, right? Now I can just take your ship.”   
  
“Ya wouldn’t  _ dare _ , pus-ridden—”

 

“I just need a signature on a document. And you wouldn’t believe that,” the gang leader said, pulling a scroll out of a pouch attached to his belt, “I have one with me right now. You can sign, or we can see how many teeth I have to—”

 

“I’ve heard enough,” Conrad whispered to Haming. “Are we interrupting something?” he asked loudly, as he entered in the alley with the most menacing pacing he could do.

 

Haming imitated him, as the loyal self-proclaimed lackey he was.

 

The gang turned immediately, reacting to the potential threat, but Conrad couldn’t really take them seriously.  
  
  
They had forgotten to so much as put someone as lookout during the thrashing.

 

“Who the fuck are you?” the leader asked, rising from his knees and adopting what he thought was a scary position.   
  
It just made him look fat, in Conrad’s opinion.

 

“Somebody that need to talk with the man you’re clobbering,” he said, taking out his hood and revealing his golden mane. “So, buzz off.”

 

The fat ringleader just snorted. 

 

“Why should I? I’m not afraid of you two.” 

 

“What did you say?” Conrad asked to the leader, in genuine surprise.

 

“I said that—”

 

“No, no. I got that,” Conrad interrupted. “You mean you didn’t recognize me?”

 

“Oh, I think I’ll remember you, after I’ll have added a few scars on that ugly face of yours,” the fat criminal sneered. Around him, the gang seemed to find more confidence.

 

Conrad just blinked.

 

“You know, this is… surprisingly refreshing,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “But to tell you guys the truth, I was counting on my reputation to scare the shit out of you.”

 

“It’s because you’re not like you are in the songs, boss,” Haming threw his own two septims while ignoring the confused gang. “You’re not wearing that horned helm,” he said, gesturing on the sides of his own head with his fingers.

 

“Talos,” Conrad growled. “I  _ hate _ that stupid helm! I wore it for a _ year _ and now, because of those gods damned bards, people think I’m still using it!” 

 

After that exchange, a couple of the thugs—probably the smarter ones—started to figure it out, and became quite pale.

 

Too bad their boss was not one of the smartest of the gang.

 

“Enough of this idiocy,” he said, taking a step ahead. “Guys, I want this two idiots—”

 

Conrad never had a chance of hearing what the fatass wanted, since he was on him in a heartbeat. The sight of the man’s eyes widening was incredibly comical.

 

Then he administered the old Riften’s Trio: a fast jab to the neck, a hook to the temple and, as the man was on the ground, a kick in the face.

 

The once tall and fat gang leader was reduced to a limp sack of meat and bones.

 

Haming capitalized on the surprise, charging an opponent of his own and delivering a classic one-two.

 

Conrad had no intention to be no less. 

 

He saw one of the criminals attempting to hit him in the head with his club, snarling.

 

Conrad knelt, grabbing the man's wrist at the same time.

 

A simple twist, and he felt a bone breaking. The man screamed, and the club fell from his hand.

 

The Nord grabbed it, taking a step back to dodge a swing from another guy.

 

Counter, half-turn.

 

His burrowed club slammed on the second attacker's cheekbone, breaking at the strength of the impact.

 

The man went down.

 

Conrad saw a flash of metal, and dodged instinctively. The other man, the one with the broken wrist, was holding a short dagger in his functional hand, though he looked like he was hating every second of it.

 

Luckily for Conrad, he sucked with his left hand.

 

Conrad gave him the Ratway's Greeting.

 

The thug’s face turned an ugly shade of purple as Conrad's foot lashed out against his groin. 

 

The Dragonborn didn't hesitate, and grabbed the man's head, slamming it against his own soaring, armoured knee.

 

Cruel, but effective.

 

He pulled up the almost unconscious man—Conrad had to give him credit, he was a tough bastard—and shoved him towards one of his fellows, causing the both of them to tumble down the cobblestone street.

 

The one still able to move got up the fastest he could, crawling away from Conrad, before turning tail and fleeing.

 

He was one of the gang’s more intelligent ones.

 

Since Haming seemed to being holding his own against his opponent, Conrad concentrated on an enemy that was trying to flank his pupil.   
  
A rather burly Argonian.

 

Conrad made one, two fast steps, tapped him by the shoulder and punched the scaly face when he turned towards him.

 

The Argonian didn’t go down. Instead, he merely started to circle around Conrad, hissing while putting on a good defence.

 

Conrad took quite a liking to him.

 

Jab. Uppercut.  
  
  
The Argonian passed on the offensive. Parry, counter.

 

Conrad took a step back, and the lizardfolk took the opportunity to try and  _ bite him _ in the face.

 

He thanked him with a kick in the stomach. The Argonian charged.

 

Side-step, kick in the shin.

 

Ha! That _ had _ to hurt, even with scales on—

 

Conrad felt something hit both his legs, and he fell on the ground with a grunt.

 

Shit. He had forgot to watch out for the fucking  _ tail _ .

 

The muscular Argonian was now stable again, towering over him, his hand on a knife’s handle.

 

Conrad decided that he didn’t like him anymore.

 

Oh well, nothing that a nice fire blast in the face couldn’t fix—

 

Conrad didn’t even made in time to call his magicka to him, that the Argonian fell face-first on the ground.

 

What the—

 

“CAME HERE, YA BLOODY DOGS!” a voice screamed, followed by various thuds. “I’LL SHOW YA!”

 

It was the captain, Edvyval whatever-his-surname-was.    
  
The Breton had yanked the Argonian for the tail, and was now fending off another crook with a club, one he had probably picked up from the ground.

 

Conrad was really appreciating the fact that the sea captain had not fled at the first opportunity, and showed his gratitude by kicking the Argonian’s snout, which was right in front of his boots.

 

He repeated the process until the reptilian was out cold.

 

That gave the captain the opportunity to let go of the still tail and concentrating on his current adversary. 

 

Who lost a pair of teeth, courtesy of the Breton’s club. 

 

Conrad rolled on his flank to dodge the mallet that had been aimed at his head, stumbling onto his feet as fast as he could.

 

The goon threw himself at him, weapon raised. 

 

He just grabbed the other man and headbutted him, breaking his nose.

 

The crook faltered for a second before falling down with a whimper.

 

The remaining members of the gang didn’t seem to be intimidated by this one bit. In fact, they were starting to take out real weapons. 

 

It seemed they wanted to rush towards the three of them in a single charge.

 

Conrad’s axe left his belt in a flash of metal, appearing in his hand. He just remained still, waiting for them, with his head half-cocked.

 

The crooks seemed to hesitate.

 

He raised an eyebrow, along with his axe.

 

What remained of the gang just turned and ran like there was no tomorrow.

 

Haming immediately started to check the fallen—and in one case, still moaning ones—for valuables as Conrad put his weapon away, turning towards the Breton captain.

 

“Who are ya?” the man asked, looking at him up and down, before spitting on Conrad’s boots. He had the club ready for any evanescence. “And what do ya—”

 

Conrad sucker-punched him, knocking him out cold.

 

“I think I like this one,” he grinned, grabbing the unconscious Breton before he hit the ground.

 

Haming just stared at him as though he were mad.

 

* * *

 

A moan was the first sign of the man’s recovery. 

 

The Breton moved slowly his head, eyes half-closed while checking his surroundings.

 

Conrad and Haming had taken him back to the New Gnisis Cornerclub. Since it was really late at night and there were no guests for the night—besides them—Malthyr had granted him to use the common room to discuss business with their… patron.

 

“Oh, good. You’re waking up,” Conrad exclaimed cheerfully. He handed the man a glass of sujamma. “Here, drink this. It will help, if you’ve got a good stomach.”

 

The man accepted the drink slowly, not really sure where he was. 

 

He touched his face where Conrad had given him a black eye.

 

Then his good eye snapped open.

 

"Ya little—"

 

He tried to get up from the chair, but Conrad firmly held him in place, placing a hand on his shoulder.

 

Firmly.

 

"The punch was just because I was pissed with you," Conrad said, showing a cruel smile.

 

"Jeez, boss. Way to go to get the guy's trust," Haming muttered from the angle where he was counting the money found on the gang of people that didn't listen to the songs.

 

Or that listened to them way too much.

 

"What do ya mean? I owe ya no money, I'm sure o’ that," the man proclaimed, confused by their behaviour. 

 

"Because of the whole brawl in the alley. After all, I just want to speak with you."

 

"And you spit on his boots," Haming added. "What was he supposed to do?!" he cried dramatically, hands thrown up in the air. "His honor must remain intact or the world shall fall apart!"

 

"Shut up, Haming."

 

Haming snickered, then went back to counting the money.

 

"I don't even know who ya people are!" 

 

"Oh, right," Conrad said, taking his hand off the Breton's shoulder and offering it to him. "Conrad Harissen, pleased to meet you."

 

The man frowned for a second, trying to recall where he had heard the man. His eyes widened like saucers.

 

"Ya're not—wait,  _ are ya _ ?" 

 

"Yes, I am," Conrad said, becoming serious.

 

For a whole minute, nobody spoke and the only sound was the the tingling of the septims in front of Haming.

 

“What do ya want?” the Breton asked, the voice low.

 

"You could start with introducing yourself. It's common courtesy," he said, sitting on a stool right in front of the shorter man.

 

"Huh, yes, of course. I'm  Edvyval Letons, merchant by trade."

 

"Very well, Edyval—I can call you Edyval, right? Sure I can, I already punched you. Now, Edyval… what can you tell me about your ship?"

 

"My ship? Why do ya want to know about my ship?!"

 

"Business. Now, tell me about your ship," Conrad insisted.

 

"My ship's called The Seeker. It's a good ship. Built it Dawnstar, with good wood. Not good like a honest Breton's ship, but—"

 

"How big it is? Is it fast?"

 

"It's bigger than a normal merchant ship. Probably around one hundred feet," Edyval shrugged. "I think it was commissioned as a recon vessel a little before of the Great War."

 

"It is good on the sea? And I mean, open sea."

 

"Sure it is—Wait,” the Breton stopped, looking at Conrad with suspicious eyes, “are ya trying to know about my ship so ya can steal it?!"

 

"Don't start spouting nonsense. I don't want to steal your ship. I want to rent it. Along with your services."

 

“Really?” Edyval asked, relaxing. “To go where?”  
  
  
“Far,” Conrad replied flatly.

 

“How much? The other side of Tamriel?”  
  
  
“Probably more far than that. But I can’t tell you until we’ve left Skyrim’s coasts,” he said, emphasizing the part about secrecy.

 

"If you're going to be like that, why should I—"

 

"Haming, please, fetch me the bigger sack," Conrad interrupted, calling the younger man without turning his gaze from the Breton’s eyes.

 

"The one I carried for the whole trip here?" Haming mumbled.

 

"Yes, that one," Conrad smirked.

 

The younger Nord complied reluctantly, rising from his seat and walking towards their room.

 

A few moments later, he came back with a big burlap rucksack, nearly as big as his torso. 

 

"Thank you," Conrad smiled, relieving his younger companion from the massive weight. 

 

Edyval looked curiously at Conrad, only to retract a little when the Nord unsheathed his dagger.

 

With a fast, precise movement of the blade, Conrad made a cut in the side of the sack, letting its contents spill out on the table.

 

A sea of gold, both septims and ancient coins from before the Empire, poured from the wounded rucksack with a metal racket.

 

Coin against wood, coin against coin, each shining in the candles' lights.

 

It took a few moments before silence fell down on the room again.

 

"Is this enough?" Conrad asked with a neutral expression, but inwardly he was smiling.

 

A life as an adventurer helped to find a lot of riches. Having places to hide them was another perk.

 

Having a loyal lackey to transport them in his place, instead, had no price.

 

* * *

 

Edyval started sweating. 

 

That was a lot of gold.

 

Really,  _ really _ a lot of gold.

 

It was more than enough to pay his debts  _ and _ still have a lot of gold after this mysterious travel that the freaking  _ Dragonborn _ wanted to do.

 

But he knew there was a trick somewhere.

 

He was aware that  _ gold _ the Dragonborn had a lot of enemies. If he  _ gold _ wanted to rent a ship to travel without telling the  _ gold _ captain about the destination, it had surely something to do with them.

 

And the  _ gold _ voices were almost unanimous about who these enemies were.

 

He was well aware that  _ gold _ it was madness to join those  _ gold _ lunatics as they tried to do whatever dangerous thing with  _ gold _ an high chance of get themselves killed, but it was becoming way harder and harder to ignore the gold gold  _ gold _ .

 

* * *

 

A week had passed since the deal between Conrad and Edvyval Letons.

 

He would have preferred to depart immediately, but even with his limited knowledge about sailing, the Dragonborn knew that such a long journey, on uncharted seas to boot, required an adequate preparation. 

 

Conrad was sitting on the pier, facing the sea, organizing the letters he had prepared to explain his absence to the people he trusted and half-truths for his contacts in and outside of the province.

 

Once in a while, he could see the crew he and the Breton had recruited passing in front of him with crates, sacks, boxes and barrels. All the necessary supplies were been loaded on the ship.   
  
After all, it was the day of the departure.

 

The Seeker was a magnificent ship, even with its half-century of age burdening its planks.

 

Sure, a few scratches were visible on the wooden hull. 

 

And the single sail had to be replaced because Conrad doubted that it could sustain a long journey, as Edyval admitted. The crew had finished mounting the new one the previous day.  
  
  
The ship had the typical shape of a Nord longship, but it was slightly sleeker. It had been designed for speed and maneuverability, which was suited for fast raids on enemy shores, or recons for a bigger, but slower fleet.

 

In the north of Tamriel, it was the perfect ship for a merchant.

 

Or a contrebandier, as Conrad suspected. 

 

Honest merchants had less chances of being cornered by a local gang that pressed about disappeared goods.

 

As long as he had no trouble because of that, Conrad didn’t mind.

 

If Edyval was really a contrebandier, there were less chances of betrayal from him. After all, the “honest merchants” of the sea founded business only thanks to their reputation for being reliable people.

 

Also he had left half of the gold in a secure place, as a insurance.

 

His father had not raised a stupid boy.

 

The sound of steps and something heavy rolling on the wooden planks caught his attention.   
  
  
Turning, he immediately hid the letters in his satchel. 

 

Some of the men—and women, and mer, and beastfolk… Some of the crew members were moving three big barrels on the pier, under Haming’s supervision apparently.

 

“Hey boss,” the young Nord greeted. “Careful with those as you load them in the ship, people. Don’t damage them.”  
  
  
“There you are, Haming. Where have you been? You disappeared for two days.”

 

“I was busy, boss,” Haming retorted.

 

“By what? More  _ curves _ ?” Conrad falsely mocked.

 

"No, I was just doing my own business. My life doesn't revolve around you." The younger man smiled.

 

"You wound me. What's with the barrels? I thought we loaded all the fresh water earlier?"

 

"Oh, I guess you don't want my gift for you then. Nevermind, people. Don't load them."

 

"Gift? What gift?"

 

"Well, the bottles of mead we bought are not really going to last much, with you onboard. So I decided to get you a few extra—"

 

"Don't listen to him! He's crazy! Put them in the hold, right now! And if one of them is scratched, remember that I know where you sleep!"

 

Haming really did care, afterall. 

 

Each of those was big enough to contain a person. If said person didn't mind being really, really uncomfortable. 

 

"Aohey, ya bloody Nords!" Edyval called from the ship. "We're almost ready to sail. My girl is ready, the sea is calm and the wind is propitious. We're just waiting ya!"

 

"In a moment, my Breton friend. I need to talk with Haming," Conrad said, pulling his pupil farther from the ship.

 

"What's wrong, boss? I thought you wanted us to depart as soon as possible?"

 

"True, Haming. But you're not coming with me."

 

"What? But… why, boss? I thought — "

 

"You're a good fighter, Haming. Also, you’re a good agent, and one of the few people I trust. But… I need someone to watch the fort while I'm away."

 

Haming remained silent, not looking away from his gaze.

 

"There are some letters in here," he continued, handing out his satchel. "Some are coded, some aren’t. They contain orders, strategies, stuff like that."

 

"You want me to be a messenger?" Haming said, offended.

 

"There's also the whole business with Winterhold to deal with. What if I'm not back in time? Somebody has to organize their defense."

 

"Boss, there are way more qualified — "

 

"It has to be you, Haming. You're already known in town, after all the months I spent inside the College. And your men are already in place."

 

"You want me to stay behind to protect Winterhold… and your students... from the Falmer," Haming sighed.

 

"Basically, yes," Conrad admitted with a sad smirk.

 

"Well… that's ironic…" Haming mumbled.

 

"What?"

 

"Nothing, nothing," the young man said quickly. "Anything else I should do?"

 

"If possible, start circulating all the stories you can think of in regards to where I've gone."

 

"What for?"

 

"It should distract the Thalmor and their agents. Tell Delphine to insist that I'm somewhere around Elsweyr, or Valenwood… No wait, better yet, I'm infiltrating the Summerset Isles."

 

"That's… that's the craziest thing we could say about you, boss."

 

"That's why the Thalmor spies will try to find out if it's true. It could even distract them from our other agents."

 

"Or they could think that you've finally lost it," the archer muttered.

 

"Do you understand why it's important that you stay here, Haming?" he asked, seriously.

 

The younger man finally accepted the satchel after a few seconds of silence.

 

"I understand, boss. Don't worry. Skyrim will still be in place when you get back."

 

"Oh, good. Let's hope the rest of Tamriel will be, too," he joked. 

 

"Come on, ya coming or not?!" the captain called.

 

"Coming, coming," Conrad called, before turning one last time towards Haming. "See you soon, boy. Be safe."

 

"You too, old man," he heard.   
  


Conrad walked on the pier, taking a deep breath before putting foot on the Seeker. 

 

"Let's move, captain," he said to the Breton, going toward the bow and not looking back.

 

"Ya heard what the bloody Dragonborn said? Cast off and set sail!" Edyval ordered to the crew with his loud voice.

  
  


Conrad didn’t move from the ship’s prow for several hours.   
  


His next journey had finally begun.

 

 

* * *

 

Naruto felt something being placed on his head, but he kept his eyes shut, as Iruka asked him to.

 

"Sensei, how much longer...?" he asked, impatient to see what the surprise was.

 

"Alright, you can open your eyes," Iruka said proudly.

 

The blond boy did so, seeing his sensei sitting in front of him, still wounded and battered, but without his forehead protector.

 

Iruka was smiling, even if he was in evident pain.

 

Naruto blinked in confusion, before he finally realize that Iruka had placed his own forehead protector in place of his old googles.

 

"Congratulations for graduating, Naruto.”

 

 


	6. Seas, Waves and Journals

 

_ 4E 220, 27th Sun’s Height. _

 

_ We've left Skyrim's shores behind us, and The Seeker has now entered Morrowind’s waters.  _

 

_ The ship is still too far to see the clouds full of ashes that spread from what remains of the Red Mountain, but I can already feel the difference from my homeland's cold air. _

 

_ Besides the terrible discovery we made, the navigation has been smooth and without problems.  _

 

_ Edyval's crew is surprisingly efficient, even if they’re nervous about the destination. Or the lack of one, at least.  _ __   
_   
_ __ Still, they’re going to do their job without asking questions, at least according to our crude Breton captain.

 

_ Seeing how much they’re paid, some people would even say that they’ve no right to ask questions. _

 

_ For the time being, using my clairvoyance spell would just be a waste of magicka. I won’t even bother until the coast of Tamriel is far behind us to _ —

 

"Maaaaster!” an annoying voice wailed, daring to interrupt Conrad as he wrote in the journal bought specifically for the journey to Akavir.   
  
  
“What is it, Beta?” Conrad asked, frowning. But his eyes didn’t leave the nib as he kept writing.

 

“Please, can we stop now?" the girl pleaded with the same tone of a mortal asking forgiveness and mercy from a  _ god _ .

 

"The deck is not going to clean itself, Beta. Keep working," he said, destroying any hope the young Nord girl might have held.   
  
  
Conrad was not inclined to let his so called students get off scot free after that stunt they’d pulled.

 

"Why do we have to?" Sven asked, as he squeezed a rag. The boy looked really skinny without his robes.

 

"You're the cabin-boys, Sven," Conrad deadpanned, searching for his ink bottle.

 

"Beta is a girl," Ta’Sava said as he scrubbed the deck. Strangely enough, the furred teen was the one that was complaining the least.

 

"Beta shouldn't have followed you in your idiotic plan," he growled.

 

“Actually, master…” the girl fidgeted with her fingers as she bit her lip, “...it was my plan. All of it.”

 

To his credit, Conrad didn’t snap immediately. Instead, he stopped writing, took a few long breaths and waited until the ink had dried completely.

 

Then, he snapped his journal shut, and slowly spun around on the crate he was sitting so that he could face his students. 

 

Sven was avoiding his gaze, Ta’Sava was incredibly interested with the wooden surface of the deck and Beta was completely terrified yet still managing to meet his eyes.  
  
  
Normally, during the lessons in the College, he would have taken pity on the poor girl.

 

But he was not in the College anymore. And neither were they.

 

“Why?” he asked in the harshest tone he could muster.

 

"We wanted to follow you," Beta squeaked, readying herself for a well-deserved scolding.

 

A long silence followed the statement, and Beta winced as Conrad raised an eyebrow, completely unamused.

 

"You managed to track me down, follow me unseen, sneak aboard the ship after enlisting Haming's help… because you wanted to follow me?"

 

“Well, we didn’t exactly track you down,” Beta started to speak, glancing at him nervously. “You left with your friend passing by the coast, we would’ve never made it. But Sven understood where you were going.”  
  
  
“Did he, now?” Conrad deadpanned. 

 

“Yeah, so, uh, we got a carriage and went to wait for you to Windhelm and—”

 

“Wait, just like that?” he asked in confusion. “Why didn’t your teachers—Sven, stop using magic  _ at once _ !”

 

The young Imperial huffed in annoyance, and let the mops fall down, releasing his telekinesis spell.

 

“Don’t huff. Do you want me to repeat what happened that time people came from town to harass us?  _ Do you? _ ” Conrad hissed towards the boy. 

 

The three froze and became paler. Or in the case of Ta’Sava, had his grey fur stood on end. Even if how their master had managed  _ that _ particular incident was still the stuff of legend among the College’s student board, it had been a little disturbing seeing it in person.

 

“Good, you got it,” the Nord man growled, eyes slitted, before turning towards the speechless and slightly embarrassed Beta. “How come nobody stopped you?”

 

“Well, master, uh...it’s not like we’re forced to stay in the College. Every member can come and go as they please, as long as the rules are respected,” Beta said, gaining confidence with every word she spoke.

 

“I know that! But that should apply to grown-ups, not magelings like you!” he retorted. “That aside, you should’ve continued your studies—”

 

“It’s not like we left the College, we’ll go back!” Ta’Sava interrupted—how dare he?!—while passing a soap-covered brush over the planks. “We just wanted to help master Conrad.”

 

“Ta’Sava, go back to scrubbing the deck. And I don’t  _ need _ your help!” Conrad grumbled. “Now, Beta. Tell me how you managed to persuade Haming to sneak you aboard the ship.”

 

“We met him in the marketplace...we were looking for you, see. And—”

 

“Beta. Why. Did. Haming. Help. You,” Conrad slowly growled.   
  
  
The girl immediately took a step back and replied to the guttural question in a rushed and squeaky tone, eyes averted. “He says it had something to do with curves…?”

 

Conrad recoiled, like he had been slapped.

 

“Milk-drinking, arrow-loving youngster,” he whispered, gritting his teeth. “Leaving him to take care of things? Oblivion, once I’m back I will  _ skewer _ his—”

 

“Uh, master?” the girl asked in confusion. “What did he mean by ‘curves’?”  
  
  
“Nevermind that!” he barked, quickly hushing the clueless girl. “Keep doing your work. You're lucky I persuaded the captain to not throw you overboard."

 

"But why would he do that?" Sven asked, fighting a hopeless battle against a very old blot.

 

"You're stowaways, Sven. I would've gladly helped, you know."

 

"To let us onboard?" the girl asked, brightening in a noticeable manner.

 

"To throw you off the ship."

 

Beta's eyes widened dramatically.

 

"But Master, aren't there sharks?!"

 

"Sure there are. We’re in open waters, Beta. But at the very last moment I realized that I will need someone to carry my stuff while walking on a unknown, dangerous unexplored continent." 

 

"... Master Conrad is evil," Ta'Sva lamented.

 

"And one more thing… you will continue your studies. Under my watch."

 

"Not really different from before, then," Sven observed, unimpressed.

 

"But this time… Mirabelle won’t be around to stop me."

 

Their faces were quite enjoyable to witness.

 

* * *

 

The masked man pulled a pair of small bells tied to a red string out from his pocket, showing them to the trio of brats in front of him.

 

"To pass, you have to take these from me before noon."

 

* * *

 

_ 4E 220, 1st Last Seed. _

 

_ Those three are getting used to the life on the ship, even if they complain about their cramping muscles. _

 

_ Pussies.  _

 

_ Even if I can understand that they're not used to manual labor, it's no reason to be whiny about it. _

 

_ Anyway, I have to start thinking about how to teach them. It's not like I can throw fireballs on the deck _ —

 

"Hey, what's that?" the young Khajiit asked, indicating something out of Conrad’s field of view. 

 

Judging by the grey-brownish clouds that the Dragonborn could see, he already knew what it was. Since it was nothing dangerous to the ship, at least for now, he kept writing on his journal.

 

"It's snow. It always snow in the north," Sven dismissed his friend worries, and kept gutting his fish with the usual unexpected enthusiasm. Even if he had started to enjoy the art of  _ cuisine _ , he was still annoyed by the idea of having to process the raw ingredients.

 

"Oh come on, that is not true Sven,” Ta’Sava rebutted. “And it is not—"

 

"So what? Even if we're not in the land of barbarians and cold, it's still snow—"

 

“It is not cold enough for snow,” Ta’Sava insisted as he opened another small fish’s belly. “Come on, Beta, tell him that.”

 

Before the girl could comment about it, the three were distracted by the sound of boots on the wooden deck and turned to stare at the newcomer.

 

"That's not snow, ya bilge rats," Edyval, the captain of The Seeker said grimly, as he walked closer to the scoffer.

 

"What? But, captain—"

 

"That's ash," Conrad said as he closed his journal. It was clear that he wasn’t going to get anything written for now, anyway.

 

“Oh? Ya’ve sailed under ash before?” the Breton asked, stroking his chin covered by two-days stubble.

 

“A few times, either to Solstheim or Morrowind’s coasts,” Conrad said, recalling his former experience with the region.

 

“Good, then ya can tell to your lads and the lass about what to do if we get an ash storm,” Edyval said, while gesturing the young mages present. “Get to it, Dragonborn. I’ve to tell my crew to prepare some buckets.”

 

Conrad nodded, and put away his journal for the time being as the captain moved towards the other end of the ship. He was well aware of his students’ stares so he decided to avoid the barrage of questions with a simple solution.

 

Talking for first.

 

“Yes, brats, it’s ash. Don’t make those faces. Now, we’re pretty far from any volcanoes for now, so we should not find any ash storms but—”

 

“Um, what is an ash storm, master Conrad?” Ta’Sava asked, blinking his eyes.

 

Conrad huffed. Of course they would ask questions anyway.

 

“To make a long story short, it’s a big cloud of ash that the winds have pushed away from the Red Mountain, or one of the other active volcanoes in the province. They can travel pretty fast actually, since ash is very light.” 

 

“That doesn’t sounds dangerous, master. Why is it a big deal?” Sven asked in confusion.

 

“Because you could die from asphyxiation inside one, that’s why,” Conrad deadpanned.

 

“Die?” Beta whispered, barely moving her lips.

 

“Well, yes. You breathe the ash as it falls down from the sky and lingers around. It clogs your lungs. You die,” he explained. “That’s why so many Dunmer have fled to Skyrim in the past two centuries.” 

 

Seeing their confusion, Conrad inwardly made a note for himself to tell the magelings about the downfall of Vvanderfell at a later date.

 

“Now, if we can’t outrun it, it means we’re probably in the middle of it. If that happens, I want you three to get a thick cloth and use it to cover your mouth and your nose. Got it?”

 

He waited long enough, so that the brats would have time to process his simple instruction. Since two or three of them had nodded, he decided to continue.

 

“And if it starts to pour down  _ really  _ thick, go under the deck and remain there until it’s passed if you know what’s good for you.”

  
“Master? What’s the water for?” Sven asked, indicating the crew that was busy with the buckets, throwing water taken from the sea onto the whole deck.

 

“Sometimes, if the volcano is erupting, the ash is still burning. If you’re not careful enough, the ship could catch fire. Soaking it makes it harder to burn, and it’s better not to waste water we can drink.”

 

“Couldn’t we help in case the ship catches fire?” Beta asked. “You know, uh, with ice magic?” 

 

“That would be helpful,” Conrad considered, scratching his beard. “A simple spell like Frostbite should be sufficient. Just don’t overdo if that happens, we don’t want to freeze the deck.”  
  
  
“Master, how come you can’t use some magic to send the ash away?” Sven inquired.

 

“I can shield the ship from  _ most  _ of it, but we're on a  _ moving  _ ship. Any barrier would not be very stable and I would start to breathe ash sooner or later. And I like to breathe,” he explained, crossing his arms. “As for the Thu'um, well...it's not like stopping an actual storm."

 

“You can stop a storm? You’re joking right, master?”  
  
  
Conrad just gave his students a smug grin.

 

* * *

 

"Oh, come on! Another D-rank, sensei?"

 

"Hn."

 

"Ah-ha. Cute little genin are not supposed to whine about their missions. Now, go on and get that trash."

 

* * *

 

_ 4E 220, 9th Last Seed. _

 

_ I had to force myself to take a hard decision today.  _

 

_ In better circumstances I would have not done such a thing, but I have no choice. _ __   
_   
_ __ From now on, I will ration the remaining mead. 

 

_ Since we’re sailing on the north of what remains of Vvanderfell, I doubt I will found a commercial dock with lots of the only thing that makes life bearable on sale. _

 

_ I hope Akavir has mead, they better have it! _

 

_ On an unrelated note, the magelings saw the Red Mountain on the horizon today, since the weather was somewhat clearer than usual. _

 

_ They were like little children, mesmerized by the alien and somehow beautiful landscape. How can anyone find a wasteland of ash beautiful, I’ll never know. _ __   
_   
_ __ Maybe, as long as we can still see the crimson volcano, I should lecture my students about the less discussed events that led to the Red Year. 

 

* * *

 

“So, how was your mission Naruto?” the young woman asked as she placed the bowl of miso ramen in front of her favourite customer.

 

“It was awful! We had to buy groceries. What kind of ninja goes to buy groceries?!” 

 

* * *

 

_ 4E 220, 12th Last Seed. _

 

_ Tried to teach the magelings some Alchemy for a few days by now.  _

 

_ Alas, they are just beginners in this field. Even with a few simple experiments, they've put a noticeable dent in the alchemy supplies available onboard. _

 

_ For this reason, they're forbidden to use the rarer ingredients. But I was able to find a suitable adjustment to that problem _ —

 

“Master?” Sven asked, pale as snow. “May I  _ not  _ drink the potion this time?”

 

“You botched it, Sven. Think of it as a learning experience: you’ll do your best next time, in order to avoid drinking an awful potion.”

 

“What if it’s poisonous?” the Imperial asked, looking with dread at the reddish-brown mixture inside the bottle in his hand. Which was actually a former mead bottle repurposed for another task.

 

“It’s not, trust me. Just unpleasant.”  
  
  
“But—”  
  
  
“Sven. Drink it,” Conrad ordered with a tone that didn’t brook a reply.

 

The youngster searched for the support of his fellow students, but they avoided his gaze with little or no shame, since they had been forced to do the same with their last failed potion.  
  
  
If Sven was not good as them, or just unlucky with the equipment Conrad had brought on The Seeker, it was not their fault.

 

Sven finally resigned to his fate and after mumbling something that sounded like “traitors”, he drank the foul liquid.

 

“It wasn’t that bad, right?” Conrad asked, as the teen made a disgusted face.

 

“I need to puke...again,” Sven said.

  
Conrad rolled his eyes, and passed him the bucket.  
  
  
What a fuss for a few fish guts mixed with salt. But at least it would teach the brats to not waste ingredients.

 

* * *

 

"This is ridiculous," the girl lamented, as she ran a paint filled brush across the surface of the fence. 

 

"Hn."

 

"Heh. Don't worry guys, I've got this," the blond kid said, forming a cross symbol with his fingers. "We’ll finish this in no time.”

 

* * *

 

_ 4E 220, 20th Last Seed. _

 

__ Great news. We’re rounding Morrowind’s eastern promontory three days earlier than expected.  
__   
_   
_ __ Once this is done, it will be open ocean, and the harder part of the journey will begin.

 

_ My mind lingers, and it's haunted by doubts. _

 

_ Am I doing the right thing? I honestly don't know. _

 

_ Minato's ghost gave me a task from beyond the grave, but I wonder if I'm doing this because of some sense of honor towards a sibling I never knew, or because I just want to go away for a while and forget all the problems that haunt me daily in my homeland. _

 

_ Even if that was the case… so what if I am? _

 

_ Maybe that's what I need after all these years.  _

 

_ A grand, ludicrous adventure, for old time’s sake. _

 

_ Even if it is for something as stupid as a long lost twin.    _

 

_ Tamriel will survive without me for a few months. _

 

_ I just hope to be able to find ‘Cornoah’ quickly, whatever _ — _ or who _ — _ it is. _

 

“Master!” Beta called excitingly, distracting Conrad from his writing session. “Look, look!”

 

He turned his head, following her student’s extended arm and what he saw pleased him.

 

The Seeker had passed the promontory and in front of the ship was the ocean, with its deep, cold colours. Nothing else was visible on the horizon.

 

Leaving his journal on the crate he had been sitting on, he started to search for the captain, giving a pat on Beta’s shoulder as she and her fellow students watched the immense mass of water in front of them.    
  
After all, this was not the unforgiving and frozen Sea of Ghosts. No surprise they were lost in their wonder.

 

But as Conrad walked among the crew, he could feel the nervousness in the air. 

 

There was a reason ships remained close to the coastline. If shit went down, the sailors could try to reach the closest shore, either swimming or in a launch.    
  
In open, uncharted waters, it was a different story.

 

“WHAT’RE YA LOOKING AT, SCUM?” Edyval’s voice exploded from the prow. Oh, there he was. “Never saw a little water before?! At yar posts! Prepare ta steer starboard!” 

 

"Good to see you're keeping them busy," Conrad chuckled as he reached the Breton on the ship's bow, ignoring the people scurrying back and forth the ship’s deck.

 

"It's better that way. If they work, tha lads will think less," Edyval said, turning towards the sea with a frown, but the Nord saw a mix of concern and nervousness in his eyes.

 

"Having second thoughts, old contrebandier?"

 

"Nonsense!” Edyval scoffed. “I'll do tha job, we have a deal. But it will be a difficult crossing, for who knows how long."

  
Conrad half-smiled, noticing that he had not denied anything about his profession.   
  


"Well, nobody's dead yet. So we're going good so far," he commented grimly.

 

* * *

 

“They’re just a bunch of brats, especially the short one with a stupid face,” the burly man grunted, before taking a sip from a sake bottle. “Are they really ninja?”

 

“Who’s the short one with a stupid face?” the blond kid laughed, before freezing and widening his eyes. “Wait a second…”

 

* * *

 

_ 4E 220, 24th Last Seed. _

 

_ I made a great discovery today. _ __   
_   
_ __ Being on a ship, in the middle of the ocean with nothing visible for miles, is incredibly boring.

 

_ The crew noticed this too, even with Edyval’s best efforts to distract them. The man can be a real slave driver when it comes to distract people with the necessary works that keeps this mass of wood afloat. _

 

_ So far, the routine we started is working.  _ __   
  


_ A little before dawn, all the crew wakes up, besides the guys that did the night shift, who can now rest a few hours. A small meal is consumed, consisting of the perishable food items. Once we run out, the only things left will be rock-hard biscuits, salted meat and fish. _

 

_ The crew’s surgeon checks up on us as we eat. The guy is not really a surgeon, he’s more like a barber that  _ _ acts _ _ as a surgeon. Beta helps him with the small wounds caused by the menial work, though. Magic doesn’t waste bandages and alcohol.  _

 

_ After this is done, the deck is scrubbed, the sail is adjusted, ropes are mended… we check our supplies too, to be sure they’re still good. And every now and then, the sailors fish. _

_   
_ _ As for me, every six hours I use my clairvoyance spell to adjust our route, and I try to teach something useful to the magelings when they’re not toiling around the ship. I’m also reading _ — _ again _ — _ all the notes about Akavir I could copy or borrow from the College’s Arcanaeum. _

 

_ In the evening, all of us eat dinner on the deck. Personally I find the meal rather dull, without mead to entertain my tastebuds. I’m saving the sweet nectar for the special occasions. _

 

__ The crew tries to find some entertainment, singing songs or playing games of chance.   
__   
__   
__ Bastards won 100 septims from me.  
__   
_   
_ __ Edyval has also started asking me to do the whole ‘Dragonborn thing’, to boost the crew’s morale.

 

_ I’m still not sure what he means by the ‘Dragonborn thing’ but apparently I’m doing it right. _

 

* * *

 

“Everyone, get down!” the shinobi yelled.

 

A spinning blade bigger than a man swung over the heads of Team 7 and their client before embedding itself straight into the trunk of a tree.

  
In the blink of an eye, a man stood on its hilt.

 

* * *

 

_ 4E 220, 31th Last Seed. _

 

_ The last week’s evenings were a nightmare. _

 

_ The magelings are now used to the life on the ship, and have learned to use their sparse free time in lots of troublesome ways. _

 

_ For example, they decided to provide us with something they called ‘evening entertainment’, which means that they tried to play some instruments they found onboard. _ __   
_   
_ __ I am sure it was Sven’s idea, since he was actually a pretty good player.

 

_ The problem was that the other two, well... they couldn’t play a good note to save their lives. _

 

_ Edyval told me something about a bard leaving the instruments when he left the ship without paying the fee, but I was too focused on trying to tear my ears off. _

 

_ So I robbed them of their free time for the whole week and forced them to practice. They seemed surprised that I knew how to play, especially Sven. _ __   
_   
_ __ How come all those bards sing about me, but always forget to tell people about how I used to be one of them?

 

_ True, I was and still am a passable bard at best, but still… _

 

_ Since I can’t do miracles in just a week, the two musically inept magelings improved just enough to not sound like a trio of horkers farting inside a flute, or battering a lute. _

 

_ This evening they somehow managed to force me into singing something, the little brats.  _

 

_ Apparently Beta is from Solstheim because she recognized the verses and started to educate her fellow magelings about the story of King Olaf and how the Bards College worked hard to find the missing verse of the song. _ __   
_   
_ __ Oh, if only she knew…

 

_ But I didn’t know about her being from Solstheim. _

_   
_ _ How much do I really know about my students? _

 

* * *

 

"Kid, let me borrow your kunai," the wounded, broken man said, looking to his apprentice's body.

 

The blond boy hesitated for a second, before throwing one of his weapons in the man's direction.

 

The shinobi's sharp teeth caught the weapon by the hilt mid-air.

 

Without pause, he immediately charged the mob of thugs on the other end of the bridge.

 

The little man in front of the group panicked, deciding to retreat behind the ranks of his mercenaries.

 

"Kill them!" the businessman screamed in fear, not realizing that it would not help.

 

* * *

 

_ 4E 220, 4th? 5th? Hearthfire. Who cares, I’m tired. _

 

_ And I can’t go back to sleep now, so I guess I’ll just write what happened. _

 

_ I was awakened in the middle of the night by one of the crewmen on guard and the first thing I thought in my dazed condition was that they had seen land on the horizon. _

 

_ Which proved to be a false hope since I could hear some half-whispered prayers and even a pair of superstitious exorcisms thrown around by the sailors that were still awake. _

 

_ So, how to write this… a moon has disappeared from the sky. _

_ Yesterday night both were present, but today there are no traces of Masser, the bigger moon.  _

 

_ I checked, sure that I was seeing things just because of the sudden awakening. But there were no clouds that could hide it from view. _ __   
  


_ It was simply gone and only Secunda was soaring the firmament above us. _

 

_ Which immediately caused the natural reaction among the crew of: call the wizard. _

 

_ I tried to calm them down, but apparently not even the ‘Dragonborn Thing’ was good enough for such a case. I can see the reason right now above me, as I write.  _

 

_ Still, between me and Edyval’s motivational speech—which may have consisted mostly of taunts, insults and comments about the crewmens’ conception _ — _ they realized that they’re not in any immediate danger. _

 

_ Especially because Edyval promised them that if any problems should arise, I would fix it. _

 

_ Damn contrebandier. _

 

_ Even if I’m sure that the ship is in no danger due to the sudden disappearance of a celestial body, I can’t help but wonder how it was possible. _

 

_ And without knowing the cause, I won’t know if it’s actually dangerous or not. _

 

_ It could just be a deception caused by the planet’s curvature.  _

 

_ The moon is still present. Has the curvature of the world affected our view of it? That could explain it. _

 

_ But if that were the case, we would have seen that the moon rise less and less in the sky until it finally stopped rising at all instead of this sudden disappearance. _

 

_ I could be wrong, but maybe a powerful mage is behind this? _ __   
__   
_ Either as a simple—but powerful—illusion or as an actual, physical disappearance? _ __   
  


_ It has already happened in the past, the most recent example in 4E 98. And the Thalmor took credit of “restoring” both moons in the sky, gaining them the gratitude and the loyalty of the Khajiit—after a coup against the Imperial-friendly government, of course. _ __   
_   
_ __ Shit-eating bastards.

 

_ Oh, great. I’ll have to explain to Ta’Sava that one of the moons disappeared. At least he is still asleep now, so I can deal with it in the morning. _

 

_ Why would only  _ _ one _ _ moon disappear, though? _

 

_ This just gives me new questions. Is the moon still visible from Tamriel? Has it disappeared only for us? Or is this some kind of astrological event that has happened for _ —

 

_ Just gave another look at the remaining moon, which is now proudly displayed in the sky. _

 

_ The lunar phase is wrong.  _ __   
__   
_ And looking at it more closely, I can spot differences on its surface. _ __   
_   
_ __ That moon is not Secunda.

 

_ Screw this, I’m opening one of the last bottles of mead. _

 

_ For all I know, a daedra could be toying with us right now, and I wouldn’t give a damn. _

 

* * *

 

"Don't overdo it, Sasuke. It will take a few days before you're completely healed."

 

"But—"

 

"No buts, you'll be able to train later."

 

"This is boring, sensei! If we can't spar, how're we supposed to pass our time?" the orange-clad genin lamented.

 

"Why don't you go helping at the bridge then? I'm sure they—"

 

But before the infamous Copy-nin could finish that line, his louder student had disappeared out of the door. The man shrugged and resumed reading his favourite literature.

 

* * *

 

_ 4E 220, 15th Hearthfire. _

 

_ Found a maggot in my hardtack today.  _

 

_ Which means that even our less perishable rations have started to go bad. Great. _

 

_ I hope we will find more food before scurvy sets in.  _

 

_ On another note, Ta'Sava still refuses to leave his hiding place after the sunset. _

 

_ I guess I can understand how he is feeling. _

 

_ Sven and Beta look instead really homesick. _

 

_ I've heard the three of them whispering about the College, about the places they're from... and about me. _

 

_ Apparently they're interested in some aspects of my past. _

 

_ This is troubling, to say the least. _

 

_ I don't want them to find out about some specific things, like the Blades and our secret war.  _

 

_ If they found out, they would not be safe _ —

 

_ Shit, I have to find a way to disassociate them from me once we get back. _

 

_ The last thing I want is to pull those magelings in this whole mess. _

 

_ And the fact that a little voice in the back of my head is telling me that each of them has great potential, the thought of them being recruited makes me disgusted with myself. _

 

* * *

 

"Woah, look at that!" the loud genin yelled. "It's even better than before!"

 

"Of course it is. I know my stuff," the bridge builder declared proudly.

 

"Well, old man, we’ll make sure to take it on our way home! Dattebayo!"   
  


* * *

 

_ 4E 220, 19th Hearthfire. _

 

_ I hate this sea and everything in it. _

 

_ Food stores are getting low, so most of the free hands are spent fishing. Fresh water is also running low, and there had been talk of possibly needing to break into my mead supply. _

 

_ Had been. _

 

_ I put an end to that fairly quickly. I set up a rotation with the magelings to freeze the buckets and let them melt. Not the highest quality water, but it’s better than seawater. _

 

_ I started studying a spell to turn it into fresh water. I am  _ _ so _ __ stupid, I should’ve started doing this before our departure.  
__   
__   
__ If Toldfir could see me, he would be ashamed of his former pupil.  
__   
_   
_ __ So far I still have to make it work since I can’t just make the salt disappear but I hope to make a breakthrough in one or two more days.

 

_ The cook says Sven is a wonder at helping him find new ways to prepare fish. I still doubt I’ll ever want to eat seafood again by the end of this.  _

 

_ Still, the crew is particularly nervous now, between the moon and these new difficulties. Some of them have started to huddle together, whispering to each other. _ __   
_   
_ __ Everytime I or Edyval get close they stop. I suspect the same could happen with the magelings.

 

_ I immediately began making a habit of sharpening my axe in plain view. _

 

* * *

 

The Wave inhabitants kept watch as the Konoha shinobi departed, heading back to their village now that their mission was complete; just as the bridge connecting their homeland to the mainland too was complete.

 

"Oh right," Tazuna said, as he had just remembered something very important. "We need to name this bridge, and I have a perfect name for it.”

 

"Oh?! What is it?"

 

"How about... The Great Naruto Bridge?"

 

* * *

 

_ 4E 220, 24th Hearthfire. _

 

_ Crew’s looking to mutiny, gotta go knock some heads in. _

 

_ Either they calm down or it’s going to be a bloodbath. _

 

_ I’ll be back soon. _

 

_ Alright, I’m back.  _ __   
_   
_ __ They calmed down, I just had to give them a little reminder of who I was, and what exactly will happen to any man who actually mutinies.

 

_ I’m not sure they’ll be getting much sleep tonight _ —

 

A loud yell was heard across the bridge, which was pretty normal on a ship.

 

Conrad would've ignored it, since there was no accompanying sound of combat or other such nasty stuff, but he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it right.

 

"Edyval, did one of your crew's finest just shout something about land?" he asked, turning towards the ship’s captain, who was now staring at something out over the water with incredulous eyes.   
  
“Yeap, he did. Ya’ve to look yarself.”

 

Conrad leaped from his sitting place, forgetting completely about the journal, quills and ink.

 

He saw it.  
  
  
Peeking up over the horizon, a long, incredibly long, strip of land was clearly visible.

 

As the crew exploded into a cacophony of celebrations and rejoicings, he allowed himself to smirk a little before casting the spell that had guided them so far.

 

“Correct the route north-northwest, captain,” he said, not looking away from the azure orb that was running towards the continent of Akavir. “Let’s try to make landfall as close as we can to the destination of this journey.”

 


	7. Silver, Stone and Steel

 

It was with a sullen mood that Team Seven approached Konoha's gates. Normally a genin team would've been happy to be finally at home, or the young shinobi would discuss about how exciting their first adventure outside of the village's walls had been.

 

Team Seven’s first time outside of the village had been  _ very _ exciting, just not in a good way, and it had left similar scars on the three genin, even if they were reacting to it in different ways.

 

Sasuke looked like his normal self, but deep down he was berating himself for being too weak, not realizing that nothing could've prepared him for what had happened. The fact that  _ that  _ man would've been more than ready didn't help.

 

Sakura had been meek for the whole trip, a sad expression on her face as she realized how little she had helped during their battles on the mission. Facing Zabuza was a wake-up call for her. She had realized that she had to find her resolve, but she wasn't sure how.

 

Naruto could be considered an expert in hiding his emotions, but in the last days his mask just seemed to have evaporated. The deaths of Zabuza and Haku seemed to chase away his former cheer. Oh, he would put on a little show for his teammates when they had to camp, but Kakashi wasn't fooled. 

 

At least he didn't seem to have been influenced by the beast sealed in his belly even if he had tapped into the Kyuubi's chakra. Not that he seemed to have noticed, something for which the copy-nin was incredibly grateful.

 

Sighing, not really looking forward to bringing  _ that  _ up with the village leader, Kakashi presented the identification papers to the chunin standing besides the gates, who accepted them with a nod.

 

It seemed that  _ for once _ Izumo and Kotetsu hadn’t been assigned to gatekeeping duties.

 

"Here you go," the chunin at the gate said as he handed the documents back to Kakashi and let the genin team pass. "Welcome back!"

 

It was unusual for the blond to not return any greeting thrown his way, but Kakashi supposed it wasn't so out of place, given the circumstances. He would have to remind himself to talk to the kid later, even if he was hardly the right person to help genin overcome their trauma.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Naruto suddenly froze, eyes widening.  The one-eye'd jounin fought back a grimace as he tried to predict what new horrors were torturing the—

 

"ICHIRAKU RAMEN!" the boy yelled as he started to run towards the direction of the famous stand. Kakashi barely managed to snatch his jacket before he could go running off.

 

“Not so fast, Naruto. We have to report to Hokage-sama first,” he reprimanded his student with a bored tone, even if he was kinda relieved. Of course Naruto would’ve thought about his favourite food as soon as they had entered the village.

 

“What?” the boy asked indignantly as he squirmed, trying to get away. “Come on, Kakashi-sensei! It’s been almost a month since the last time I had ramen!”

 

“Report first, ramen later,” Kakashi said. He would’ve gladly let the genin roam around the village and do whatever they did in their free time, but the team had just came back from a mission and there was a protocol to respect. “It shouldn’t take long to—”   
  
“Hey, what’s that?” Naruto asked, pointing a finger towards the sky.

 

“Naruto,” Kakashi sighed, hoping that he didn’t have drag to him all the way to the Hokage’s office. “That trick isn’t going to—” 

 

“No seriously, Kakashi-sensei! What’s that?!”

 

Seeing Naruto’s insistence, Kakashi decided to humor him. After all, there was no way the boy could slip away from him. But as he moved his gaze from his loud student, he noticed that other people on the street were staring. And pointing in the same direction.

 

He wasn't able to raise his head to check what the whole fuss was about beforewhen some kind of blue light zipped briefly at the corner of his eyes.

 

Followed immediately by another.

 

He snapped his head towards the light and took a double-take at what he saw. Dozens of small blue trails where speeding towards the village from high in the sky, leaving a faint light at their passage.

 

As they came closer to the village, they started to quickly descend towards Konoha's streets, spreading out in an apparently random pattern.

 

Was it a jutsu? Who was casting it? Was the village under attack?!

 

Some departed from the group and went for the ground, reaching the streets around the gates in less than a second.

 

Widening his eye, Kakashi realized that one of them was going straight for his team.

 

Whereas his two other genin pulled themselves out of the way, Sakura froze, making Kakashi curse inwardly. 

 

Fortunately, he’d already been in motion to snatch his genin out of the way, and plucked the pink haired girl back by her collar just in time. 

 

Kakashi surveyed his surroundings, expecting to see shinobi swarming at the scene of the attack and civilians being evacuated, but he was shocked to see people not really doing anything except stare with worried expressions. Some of the villagers were even just carrying on with their business, almost like...

 

"Finally back, Kakashi?" a voice asked, causing the Copy-nin to snap towards it, still wary of any attack. It was Sarutobi Asuma, with his own genin team in tow.

 

"Ah, Asuma," he said, relaxing his posture slightly. "What's going on?"

 

"We're not sure," the other jonin said, shrugging. "It started weeks ago. Spread panic around the whole village, but apparently it's not harmful."

 

"Really now?" Kakashi asked, arching his only visible eyebrow and ignoring the antics of the two groups of genin who were meeting each other.

 

"Yeah, there's an investigation going on, but I'm out of the loop on this one," Asuma said as he lit a cigarette. "If they  _ have _ found out anything about it, it's still classified. It's obviously a jutsu but—"

 

"AH!" Naruto yelled, distracting both the jonin-sensei. "You're going to do a D-rank? We just came back from a C-rank!"

 

Kakashi sighed and tried to ignore his loudest student's antics as he revealed his implanted eye so he could check the lights with the Sharingan.

 

He looked at one of the orbs that was still moving above the village with the eye Obito had given him as a parting gift, following it as it soared in the sky. 

 

And he kept staring silently.

 

When the light had disappeared behind some buildings, he was still staring at where it had gone, completely oblivious of the weird look Asuma was giving him or how the genin were becoming a little too noisy for his tastes.

 

"And there was this guy that tried to kill us with a big badass sword, but he was a cool guy and—"

 

"Alright, listen up, my cute little genin," Kakashi said, interrupting Naruto’s rant, his tone serious despite his light-hearted words. "Nevermind the report. You're dismissed for today."

 

“What? But Kakashi-sensei, you just told us—”

 

“Why don’t you take Sakura and Sasuke with you? Unless you want to help me fill all the paperwork... “ 

 

“Bye sensei!” Naruto said, turning towards his teammates. Kakashi didn’t hear if he managed to convince Sakura and Sasuke to go to eat ramen with him though, since he left with a shunshin after giving a brief nod to Asuma.

 

He ran above the rooftops towards his destination, and in the span of a few seconds, he found himself outside the Hokage’s office. He gave a brief nod to the ANBU that had henged himself as the wall before jumping, perching himself on the window.

 

“Kakashi,” the Sandaime greeted him with a reprimanding tone. “My window is not a door.”

 

“If that’s the case, Hokage-sama, you really should keep it locked...”  
  
“And get shards all over the office again when one of my shinobi tries to barge in? No thanks,” the Hokage sniffed before turning towards him, suddenly serious. “Where is your team? If I remember correctly, I think it’s still tradition to have your genin with you when reporting on a C-rank mission.”   
  
“The mission may need to be reclassified, actually. But that’s not why I’m here alone.”   
  
“I suppose you have questions about the… phenomenon that has interested the village these last few weeks?”

 

“For so long…? What has been—”

 

“We’ve taken measures already,” the Sandaime reassured him as he shifted some documents. “Before you ask… I expect that your mission report will be turned in soon?”

 

Kakashi gave a shrug, retrieving a scroll from the pouches on his flak jacket and placing it on the Hokage’s desk.

 

“Here it is. I wrote it as we left Wave. May I ask you about those lights now?”  
  
  
“Very well,” the Hokage said, stopping to glance at the documents before refocusing on the discussion. ”Since this has started, those lights have been sighted around the village at least four times a day, with intervals of six hours or more between each sighting. Once they appear, they remain in the area very briefly, although, thanks to the repeated appearances...”   
  
“You know where they’re coming from?”

 

“About their origin… we’ll talk about it in a bit. We have suspicions, although it’s impossible to prove anything yet. I’m more worried about where they were directed, though.”  
  
  
“The lights have a specific target?” Kakashi asked.  
  
  
“You could say that,” Sarutobi said gravely. “It took a few days of stakeouts to confirm it, but beyond any doubt… each of those lights is tracking one of Minato’s seals. The  _ Hiraishin _ seals.”

  
Kakashi silently stared at the village leader in a mild state of shock, while the Hokage calmly started to fill his pipe with his favourite tobacco.

 

“And I’m not referring to only those that Minato had placed in strategic key points around the village,” the Sandaime continued, ignoring Kakashi’s reaction. “ANBU patrols were able to follow some of those lights and discovered three of his old, secret safe houses. The ones that don’t appear on any official record… and inside of them we recovered some of his special kunai.”

 

Silence reigned again in the small office, but Kakashi’s mind was racing this time, thinking about the implications of such a thing. If someone had found a way to track down the Hiraishin, along with what he had seen...

 

“Which becomes even more worrying if you consider the supposed origin of those… tracking lights.”  
  
  
“How is it possible that the man responsible has not been caught yet, if this has been going on for weeks?”   
  
  
“Not for lack of effort, I can assure you. Apparently those lights arrive from outside of the country's border. The north-western border.”  
  
  
“Iwa?”   
  
  
“The most possible candidate, but without more intelligence, sending a team to infiltrate Iwa would mean risking a war because of a hunch.”

 

“I don’t think it’s Iwa’s doing, sir.”

  
“Really now?” the Sandaime asked, arching an eyebrow. “Please, do tell the reason.”  
  
  
“I examined the lights with my Sharingan, Hokage-sama. And I know it sounds absurd but… I don’t think that they were made out of chakra.”

 

“I see. The Hyuuga have claimed something similar, but I wanted to know what the other doujutsu in Konoha’s possession saw, to eliminate any doubt.”

  
“How is that possible?” he asked. Such a thing was unheard of in all the Elemental Nations.

 

“Kakashi… I have no idea,” the Hokage admitted, as he lit his pipe before taking a long, slow drag. And if the Professor was saying such a thing...

 

Well. That wasn’t a good sign.

 

* * *

 

Conrad sneered at the short man, and the short man sneered back from behind the counter. He didn’t like the shopkeeper, and the shopkeeper didn’t like him. Not being able to speak the other man’s language wasn’t helping to improve the relationship.

 

But the language barrier was not going to stop them from performing an incredibly ancient ritual.

 

Gesturing towards the items he had placed on the counter, Conrad showed a handful of gold coins to the merchant. A more than fair price, in his opinion.

 

The shopkeeper vehemently shook his head, showing to the Nord both his open palms with a scowl.

 

With an unsatisfied grunt, Conrad took a few more septims from his leather purse and added them to his already filled palm, making them dance among his fingers. His eyes never left those of the short vendor.

 

With a scoff, the shopkeeper pointed a bony finger towards the gold coins, before shaking his head one more time.

 

Conrad added one more coin to the pile, narrowing his eyes. When the merchant tried to refuse again, he closed his hand around the coins, growling menacingly. A clear way to say that it was his final offer.

 

The shopkeeper, seeing the potential gain on the verge of disappearing out of his store, finally agreed with a nod, although there was no trace of satisfaction on his face.

 

He slammed the handful of septims on the counter and as the merchant examined the coinage, quickly put the purchased goods in his bag before leaving the emporium, unsatisfied and swearing to never return.

 

And he wasn’t even sure if he had made a good deal or not.

 

“I can understand you were in a rush, Minato,” he muttered to himself as he walked in the muddy street of the small mountain town. “But when you tinkered with my mind why in the name of every aedra and daedra didn’t you gave me some hints about the local  _ tongue _ ?!”

 

He decided to add it to the list of stuff to kick his brother’s sorry incorporeal ass for if he ever managed to pay a visit to him again, and started to look around for the magelings, hoping that they had not wandered off  _ this time _ . 

 

They didn’t need a repetition of what happened in the last village when Ta’Sava had  _ smiled _ at a group of curious children.

 

That, along with the fact that in a week they hadn't met a single not-human, made Conrad suspect that the accounts of Akavir were either wrong, mistranslated or just plain bullshit.

 

Having to deal with such reactions, the missing moons and having to wear long robes and a cowl by necessity had turned the normally cheerful Khajiit into a brooding wreck.

 

Speaking of which, there was the gloomy furball himself, along with the other two.

 

They were beside a small stand, apparently enjoying some sweets-on-a-stick. It reminded him of those honey nuts he had enjoyed when he was younger, only smaller. 

 

Well, Beta was enjoying it. Sven was apparently more interested in watching the stand owner like a hawk, studying how the sweet balls were made. Ta'Sava was sparsely munching his own instead.

 

“Master!” Beta called him, having noticed his approach. “You should try these, they’re really good!” 

 

“No, thanks,” Conrad grumbled. “Who knows what’s in them?”   
  
“I don’t know, but they’re good,” Beta replied, giving it another bite. “They’re called dan-go, I think, and—”

 

“I don’t really care what they’re called,” he interrupted her, having noticed the weird looks that the stand owner was giving them. True, it could’ve been just because they were talking in what may have sounded like a weird language and had different clothes, but these kids were  _ so  _ oblivious, dammit! “I’ve bought us some supplies, so let’s move on. We’ve only a few more weeks before we have to go back to the ship, and the journey is far from over.”

 

Grumbling complaints, his more or less forced apprentices gathered their belongings and followed him as he kept walking along the main street. 

 

He tried to ignore the stares. They were not looking at him, not with the same awed or scornful expressions that he was used to back home, at least. But for some reason the first thing the locals did—or at least enough of them to be noticeable—after staring at them as a group was look at their foreheads.

 

Weird. But it made Conrad reach for his hood instinctually. 

 

“Where are we going now?” Sven asked, still eating. “Same direction?”

 

“South, first. Then we’ll see,” he replied. Conrad didn’t dare to use his tracking spell in a busy settlement, not knowing how magic was seen by the locals. But last time he had checked, it was indicating roughly to south, away from the mountains that seemed to dominate the rocky region where the Seeker had took to shore. 

 

“Master?” Beta asked, having finished her dan-whatever. “There’s something we wanted to ask…”   
  
“Then ask, Beta. We’re not at the College anymore,” he replied without looking at her.

 

“He didn’t say that when I asked him about the Companions…” Sven muttered to Ta’Sava.   
  
“Well, hm, how are you sure that the ship will be there when we’ll have to go back?” Beta asked, ignoring her fellow student. “Nothing prevents them from abandoning us here…”

 

“Let’s just say that I assured that it will not happen,” Conrad replied with a smirk.

 

* * *

 

Sitting on his beached ship’s bridge, Edyval Letos was absolutely livid.

 

He couldn't vent his anger, sadly. Not really. He had already used any insult, curse and blasphemy he knew of—and he knew a lot of them—against the Dragonborn's name, his parents, his family and distant relatives he may have.

 

In the Breton's fingers was a silver coin, the source of his ire.

 

Before leaving, Conrad Harissen had turned with a spell all the gold he had used to pay Edyval into silver. 

 

As an insurance, he’d said.

 

Good luck finding someone willingly to reverse it for free, he’d said.

 

See you in one or two months, he’d said.

 

Damn mages.

 

Being forced to wait for their return, he had ordered the ship onto the beach. At least they had landed in a relatively good place, with the high cliffs around the bay protecting them from most of the winds.

 

The scouting party had returned almost immediately, having found a stream of fresh water nearby. Between the sea and the land, they had enough food to survive. 

 

It was just a matter of surviving long enough. They hadn't seen any dangerous creature or monster yet, but he didn't want to take any chances.

 

A small but effective palisade was built around the camp, protecting the tents that had been mounted in relative order beside the ship.

 

Turns were organized between fishing, hunting, cooking, mending the ship, and simple sentry duty.

 

This gave lot of free time to Edyval to brood and wish he could incinerate people with magical fire, like any good Breton should be able to, as his grandfather used to say.

 

Damn mages.

 

He let the silver coin fall inside the chest that contained the whole pile, before slamming it shut with a kick. Still grumbling about his grandfather and the Dragonborn, he left the ship and went to grab the small axe that lay in the tools’ pile at the centre of the camp.

 

It was his turn to chop wood, after all. Imagining that the logs were actually the Nord’s head would help him.

 

There was also the fact that it made him look like he was part of the crew, struggling alongside them. Which was good. 

 

The more they respected him, the less chance that they would try to slit his throat during his slee—

 

“People!” the sentry perched on the top of the mast cried, distracting the captain from his grim thoughts. “People are coming from the cliff!”

 

Edyval’s head snapped in that direction, and it was not the only one. Lo and behold, a small mob was becoming visible above them, small dark silhouettes against the sky from the captain’s point of view.    
  
Most were staring at the ship, some were pointing at it while discussing with the ones close to them… but a decently-sized group was moving towards them, walking on the track that descended to the bay.

 

“Don’t ya stare there, idiots!” Edyval yelled. “All hands on deck!”

 

* * *

 

Conrad pierced another piece of meat with an improvised spit before admiring his work. 

 

Four nice rows of juicy meat were ready in his hand, but he had no intention of stopping to cook them.

 

**"Yol!"** he shouted, a short-lived stream of fire leaving his open mouth. It was enough, and the meat was cooked—if a little charred—grease still sizzling.

 

He took one in his other hand and passed the remaining three to the students, who started eating the impromptu meal.

 

"Ugh, not even some spices," Sven lamented, peeling off some burnt pieces.

 

"Ta'Sava is not concerned,” the Khajiit said, shrugging as he took a considerable bite. “Ta'Sava quite likes it." 

 

As they ate, they kept walking in silence, and for a while Conrad was able to enjoy the unfamiliar landscape in silence, with the exception of munching sounds.  The last days had been mostly made of mountains and rock and he was already sick of it.   
  


At least there was no snow, thank Talos for that. Although the mountains were more distant now, and smaller in size.

 

Hopefully they would find an easier terrain to navigate, and—

 

"Master?" Beta abruptly.

 

"Yes, Beta?" Conrad questioned, doing his best to suppress a sigh. He should’ve known that his peace of mind wouldn’t have lasted long.

 

"Is it true that you're a wanted man?" the girl blurted out, appearing to regret the question the moment it slipped past her lips.

 

"What," he said—didn’t ask,  _ said _ —flatly, coming to an halt and turning towards the magelings, who were now standing beside each other. He couldn’t decide if it was to attempt to give an impression of a common front or if the boys wanted to protect the girl.    
  
As if.

 

"I said—"

 

"Yes, I heard what you said,” he interrupted her, crossing his arms. “Where has this come from?"

 

"Well, on the ship…” Beta started, unsure how to put it.

 

“We heard a lot of stuff on The Seeker, Master Conrad,” Sven finished, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder as though to reassure her.

 

"Really now?" Conrad muttered, his mind already abuzz. Someone in the crew knew of the unofficial bounty placed on him by the Thalmor? It was not exactly a very well-protected secret, but it wasn’t that widespread. The Thalmor didn’t want to risk making a martyr of him so they couldn't try to move him against officially.   
  
Nothing in the secret war he had inadvertently become involved in was official, though. 

 

The problem was that  _ rumors  _ were around. One of the sailors had probably heard of them...

 

"Yes,” Beta continued, laughing nervously. “Some of it was utterly crazy, totally absurd. Like how you rode a dragon to fight vampires, or something."

 

"Uh-hu,” was Conrad’s unimpressed answer. Who even made up stuff like that? He had never rode a dragon during the vampire crisis!

 

"But we were told you were a wanted man, too. So..."

 

Yep, here it was. The moment they would ask him about the Thalmor hunting him down, the bounty hunters, the whole package he wanted to keep them away from.

 

"Look, I didn't tell you because I didn't want to—"

 

"So it's true!” Beta’s exclaimed in shock, covering her mouth with her left hand. “You  _ are  _ an outlaw in the Riften Hold!"

 

Conrad’s mind came to a stop. What the—She was not talking about the Thalmor?

 

"What? Riften?!” he exclaimed in outrage, mostly because he had almost spilled the beans. “I'm not wanted in Riften!" 

 

"But Master Conrad,” Ta’Sava spoke. “They said—"

 

"Look, they just told you a lot of over-exaggerated stories,” Conrad assured them. “I'm just not... very welcome there. But I'm not wanted by the law."

 

"Not welcome?" Beta asked in confusion.

 

"It means they don't like seeing me inside Riften, and I've been asked to stay away from there," Conrad deadpanned.

 

"I know what that means, master! But... what did you do?"

 

"I—I destroyed a tavern," he grumbled, scratching his head as he recalled the tragic ending of that period of his life. Bittersweet memories.

 

"You... destroyed a tavern?” the girl said in disbelief. 

 

“I can see that, actually,” Sven deadpanned. “Why would the whole city hold a grudge on it, though?"

 

"It was a very popular tavern," he smiled sadly. It was true, after all. The Ragged Flagon had truly been very popular once.

 

"Couldn't you have paid for damages?"

 

"I didn't have enough money," Conrad replied, getting irritated with the girl when he felt it; the same odd sensation that made his hair on his head stand on end.

 

He brushed it off, attributing it to another one of the odd things here. Everything just felt... off. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, though.

 

"But you could've—" Beta's speech was cut short by Conrad's hand clamping over her mouth to shut her up.   
  
There it was again; that sensation.   
  
When Beta lifted her hands to Conrad's hand to try and pull him away and speak, Conrad pressed harder, giving her a sharp look before listening to a faint noise in the underbrush.

 

"We're being watched," he realised. The magelings immediately tensed, looking around trying to locate the threat that had apparently put their master on edge. 

 

Sven had even formed a small globe of fire already, ready to throw it.

 

Conrad on the other hand was slowly scanning their surroundings, moving his right hand to his axe's handle, ears opened. 

 

Blasted rocks. Whoever was spying on them could've been—

 

_ There! _

 

Conrad shouted, and the three words that formed the Whirlwind Sprint threw him towards the hiding place of the potential enemy. 

 

He landed with his trusted weapon in his grip, lightning channelled at the point of the staff he was holding in his other hand and... nothing.

 

There was nothing behind the stupid rock.

 

"I could've sworn that..." Conrad muttered as he looked around, incredulous. Had he imagined it?

 

"Master Conrad!" Ta'Sava called, moving towards him with his fellow students in tow. "Are you alright?" 

 

Conrad decided to ignore it, still on high-alert. 

 

Where was he? He knew he was here. Where  _ was _ he?! 

 

“Master?” the Khajiit repeated, worry clearly audible in his voice.  

 

He ignored the Khajiit, still eyeing their surroundings. The students were moving closer to him, oblivious to the possible danger. 

 

He snapped his head towards them, opening his mouth as if to yell at them a warning—and the presence was gone.

 

Conrad's eyes widened in shock.

 

How was it possible? Had his senses fooled him?

 

No, that was not it.

 

Whoever had been there... was gone. In the blink of an eye, no less.

 

The thought unnerved him. 

 

"Master?" Ta’Sava called again. Both him and his fellow students were now looking at him with worried expressions. 

 

"Nevermind,” he grumbled, lowering his axe and relaxing only in appearance. “Let's just keep going."

 

“Master, are you alright?” Beta asked, sounding concerned. “What was that?”

 

"Yes, I'm fine... Must have been the wind or something," he replied, failing to sound completely convinced. 

 

"Wind my ass. I think he’s just getting crazier," Sven whispered as he dispersed the spell he had prepared, not realizing that his master had heard his comment. Conrad had better things to do than reprimand the young Imperial. 

 

Like keeping his eyes opened.

 

* * *

 

Sarutobi Hiruzen was sitting in his office, but for once the God of Shinobi was free from the tedious task known as paperwork. 

 

Instead, he was studying a map of the Elemental Nations, covered with dots and markers. The rest of the desk was covered by reports from the patrols that had been appointed for the investigation. 

 

Beside him were Nara Shikaku, the jonin commander, and the rest of Konoha's best and brightest strategists.

 

"Our scouts confirmed that there are a lot of Iwa patrols around the border, besides the regular forces of the Land of Earth."

 

"That's not unusual. The Earth-Fire border has always been heavily surveilled by both nations. Although, an increase of activity on the border as Konoha is experiencing such phenomena..."

 

"Iwa has always carried a grudge against the Yondaime Hokage, but like all the other Hidden Villages, envied his power. What if this is their attempt to study the Hiraishin?"

 

"Nonsense!” one of the other strategists blurted out. “The Hiraishin no Jutsu was created by Tobirama-sama. In decades, only Namikaze Minato was able to reproduce it, and only after studying the scrolls that are jealously guarded right  _ here _ , in the deepest bowels of our vaults! The mere idea of someone understanding how it works without those is  _ absurd! _ "

 

"Then how do you explain that each and every one of those lights has lead to a Hiraishin seal, huh?" was the almost mocking reply he received from one of his colleagues.

 

Sarutobi’s mind was a buzz of activity. Maybe it really was just a way to track the Hiraishin seals, but why now? Why more than a decade after Minato's death, when no shinobi able to use it existed?

 

No, it was something else. The evidence in their possession left no other explanation.

 

"I'm more concerned about this 'not-chakra' energy that the lights seem to be made of, according to Hakate Kakashi and the whole Hyuuga Clan," the Hokage said, eyes still on the map. "Have we made any progress on that front?"

 

"Our sensors are trying their best, Hokage-sama. Sadly those lights disappear as soon as they reach their target, leaving no chakra residue for analysis."

 

"That shouldn't surprise us, if they're not made of chakra but from... something else," Sarutobi mused, stroking his chin. "Maybe we can't detect anything because we don't know how it's made. The question is, how did Iwa—"

 

The door suddenly opened, interrupting the Hokage's musings and catching everyone's attention.

 

"Hokage-sama, forgive the intrusion, but a message with the highest priority has just arrived," the shinobi that had barged in said, presenting to the village leader a sealed scroll with a slight bow.

 

Sarutobi accepted it with a nod, before opening and examining its contents. The whole room was silent now, the bickering forgotten as they studied the Hokage's reactions as his eyes darted across the scroll's contents.

 

"It seems that our concerns were not founded as we thought," he slowly said after a few minutes, closing the parchment. "Our spies in Iwa finally managed to send a report. The lights are not their doing, and they're as baffled as us."

 

He took a deliberate pause before continuing, "Unlike us, though, they've a lead on their origins. Iwa patrols are stalking an unknown group that was apparently moving along the border."

 

"Another group involved in this?" Shikaku mumbled, eyes closed. "That leaves too many unknowns, even without considering the nature of the energy powering that jutsu."

 

"Indeed, but now we know where to look. This has become a race between us and Iwa, to see who will reach those responsible first," Sarutobi said, as he slowly rose to his feet. "Send an ANBU team to investigate." 

 

* * *

 

Dawn was breaking over the mountain pass, and from their advantage point, Conrad was able to see the landscape in all of its glory.

 

The barren, snowless mountain range with all its peaks and spires almost suddenly ceased to be, leaving space for one of the most thick and lush forests he had ever seen in all of his travels.

 

The rising sun's rays were playing tricks with the scenery, painting the rocks and leaves in reds and blues.

 

Once upon a time, Conrad would've been breathless at seeing such a wonder. Now he was just wondering how much terrain they would be able to cover in one day.

 

In the end, the attack hadn't come.

 

That didn't mean that Conrad had relaxed completely. 

 

The last few nights had been a nightmare, because he knew he couldn't rely only on the magelings to do watch duty since they had not even felt their stalker's presence the first time.

 

Thank the Divines for magic runes and summoned daedra. They were the only reason why he had managed to sleep at all.

 

No matter how paranoid the magelings thought he was.

 

Had it not been for their mysterious pursuer—or pursuers—he would've gladly used this opportunity to give the kids a cartography lesson. Their skills in that field were pitiful at best.

 

Instead, he had hastened them to break camp as he traced a map of what he was able to see from his perched spot in his journal. Sadly none of the lands they had crossed so far resembled the few Akaviri maps he had seen, which depicted only Septimia’s and Ionith’s surroundings.    
  
They had probably landed in another part of the continent. Just his luck.   
  
On the bright side, he was able to see at least two villages, so maybe they would be able to sleep under a roof that night.

 

Taking in the sight before him one last time, he stood from the rock he had been sitting on, turning towards the young mages.

 

Who were still having trouble packing their supplies.

 

Conrad groaned loudly and made a note to teach them how to do that properly on a later date, but didn't move to help them. 

 

Let their errors teach them a lesson, first.

 

"Hurry up you three, or I'll leave you here," he barked as he picked up his backpack, walking away from the camping spot.

 

The sounds of their hurried bustling made him smile slightly, but he quashed it quickly. He had a reputation to uphold.

 

"Master Conrad?" Ta'Sava called, trotting behind him whilst cradling a canteen, a book and other various items. "How long before we arrive?"

 

"For the last time, I don't know," he replied, slightly turning towards his furried student. "We'll be there when we'll be there. Now put your stuff inside your pack while I check."

 

Conrad ignored the grumbling that ensued from that comment as he turned back to face the direction they were traveling in. They were getting closer, he could feel it. To what, he didn’t know, but he assumed he’d know when he got there.

 

Or else he’d have even more reason to hunt down his brother’s dead soul and beat it into Oblivion.

 

Turning his focus inward to cast the seeking spell—which he could practically cast in his sleep by now—he gathered the necessary magicka, and let it loose. The giant ball of magic had long lost its novelty, but this time something different happened.

 

Instead of the entire sphere flying off in one direction, it split up into multiple smaller orbs. A big cluster of them soared in the same general direction, while others shot off at seemingly random intervals. A few even landed in the forest, in the middle of nothing.

 

He stared at them, part of his mind noting the directions as the rest tried to process this new development.

 

He ignored the magelings’ comments as they tried to get his attention and question him, too busy trying to deny the conclusion he was coming to.

 

He was going to murder his brother. Repeatedly. He was pretty sure that the Soul Cairn would let him do that.

 

There were  _ multiple  _ objects they were tracking?! And they didn’t even have the decency to be in the same general area, no, they had be all _ over _ the damn place!

 

“I hate you, Minato,” he growled as he resumed walking.

 

“Who’s Minato?” Beta asked in confusion.   
  
“My brother,” Conrad replied, not offering any other explanation.

 

“I didn’t know that the Dragonborn had a brother,” Sven whispered, once again not lowering his voice enough.

 

“Maybe his brother is not famous, so the bards never say anything about him in the songs?” Beta offered hesitantly.

 

* * *

 

Edyval pretended to mask his annoyance as he gave another bag of silver coins to yet another simpleton that had come to trade with them at their camp. 

 

The fool smiled in satisfaction, and left with a deep bow, lots of smiles and words in that funny tongue of his, to which he replied with waves with his hand and smiles of his own.

 

Inwardly though, Edyval was gloating. He had just bought two crates of a spice never seen back home for an incredibly low price. Even if he was paying with gold-turned-into-silver coins, he would be rich once the stuff arrived on the Tamrielic markets.

 

And that was just with the last transaction!

 

One week ago, when he had seen those people on the cliff, he had feared that the camp would’ve been attacked. Instead it was a group of curious locals from a small village nearby. 

 

At first they just gaped at the ship—something that he could understand and be proud of, since The Seeker was a  _ great _ ship—but being looked at like he was a source of entertainment by these weird-dressed savages had quickly become annoying.

 

Then they started to trade with his crew. Although the language barrier was a problem, gestures and coin seemed to be universal. Especially the coin. 

 

It was food at first. The crew was tired of the meager provisions that had remained after the long travel and wanted to try something new. After the weird but tasty food, they had started to buy other items from the peasants. Like those weird sticks that made light when you push a button on them—another thing that didn’t exist in Tamriel, and for which Edyval knew he could ask any price he wanted.

 

In a few more days, more people had started to come. Even real merchants, who had come with some bodyguards. A small camp surrounded their even smaller camp now, tents full of people that wanted to sell stuff to him. 

 

Edyval was not stupid though. He knew that there was only so much silver—transmutated gold, he reminded myself—on the ship, and if he wanted to maximize his gains he had to be careful in choosing who he would make a bargain with. Which of course led to some screening.

 

Speaking of which, Edyval had some potential deals to attend to. He couldn’t deny that it was difficult to communicate to the merchants without seeming invasive or rude, but he could care less when it came to such  _ fantastical _ business opportunities! His interests lay in just how low he could haggle the price, especially with imbeciles that had no idea the fortune they were laying upon him.

 

Edyval resisted the urge to rub his hands together gleefully as he proceeded look at the wares that had arrived that day—fabrics. Some familiar, some not, but it appeared his crew were just as eager as he to trade—with their own funds, of course. He had no doubt exclusive goods obtained from Akavir would catch an impressive price back home, and his men surely had the same idea in mind.

 

He scanned the camp, looking for that trader that had those weird dresses. Before seeing him, Edyval had always thought that the only men to wear a gown were mages and priests.  Where was that—

 

“Captain, come here and take a look at this!” a sailor called Edyval from the nearby line of applicants that were waiting for their chance to talk to him.

 

“What do ya—” he started to call, but his eyes caught a strange sight in the middle of the camp. 

 

A tall man in red robes was standing in there, but that was not what caught the seaman’s sight. In the last few days he had somehow become accustomed to the weird dress and fashion sense of these uncouth fools—mostly because of the prospect of future gains. 

 

There was no way though to describe the man in red if not as eccentric, between the long—too long to possibly be practical—and thick mane of white hair and those strange red tattoos on the face.

 

What a land of weirdos.

 

He was at the point of turning away and getting back to his own business when their gazes locked. Edyval’s hair stood on end, his flesh crawling with the sensation of danger. He widened his eyes.

 

That man in red… he was dangerous. Incredibly so.

 

In a way the seasoned captain was not able to explain.

 

“Captain, come on!” the crewman called again, distracting him for only a second. “You must see this!”

 

Edyval nodded absent-mindedly, as he checked the crowd where the tall bushy-haired man had stood. He couldn’t see a speck of white, or red robes.

 

The man was gone. How was that possible—

 

“Silk, sir!” the sailor yelled to him. “This guy has  _ silk _ !”

 

Edyval’s neck could have snapped with the speed he turned it. Trying to seem as unfazed as possible—a great effort, since he had just had one of the biggest scares of his life—he slowly walked towards the line.

 

“What did ya just say?” he whispered, placing both his hands on the sailor’s shoulders.

 

The crewman offered one of the bundles from a crate that one of the tradesmen had offered as sample of his merchandise. It was a folded cut of silk, of great quality, the texture almost flawless, and Edyval’s gnarly lips twisted into a greedy smile, his hand crawling to his money pouch.

 

“Tell him to—Well, let him understand that I want all of it,” he grinned, before turning towards the rest of the crew. “Ya idiots! Help this savage’s men to load the crates with the silk in the cargo bay!”   
  
“Cap’n, I lost my sword!” someone among his men protested. “I can’t find it anywh—”

 

“Nevermind that! Do as I said!” he ordered, already imagining how much he could charge for the silk.

 

He didn’t think about the man in red for a long time.

 

* * *

 

“There's no way it's normal. What do you think?” Sven asked, still walking in the middle of the forest. “Do you think it’s normal?”

 

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Beta replied, slightly annoyed by her friend's insistence. 

 

"It's just... I started to notice it on the ship, but it's only been a few weeks! How can it—"

 

"Ta'Sava is having a growth spurt," the Khajiit defended himself. "It's not Ta'Sava's fault if he is now taller than Sven."

 

"It's just not fair!" Sven wailed. "I've always been the tallest among us!"

 

"Sven is just jealous that Ta'Sava is the one that looks grown up, now," the feline said smugly.

 

"Guys... I'm a Nord,” Beta deadpanned. “Do you realize that when we’ve 'grown up', I'll probably be taller than both of you?"

 

"So what? The fact that you’re a Nord doesn’t mean that all Nords are giants!” Sven protested. “Master Conrad isn’t that tall!"

 

"Hey!” said Nord yelled, turning towards his students. “I'm just a little below average!"

 

The two boys blinked for a few seconds, before exploding in a loud laugh, much to the girl’s confusion and their teacher’s anger.

 

“Little... !” Ta’Sava managed to say between the giggles.

 

Conrad gritted his teeth and kept walking under the forest’s canopy. He would’ve gladly taught those two brats a lesson, but he had to admit—inwardly, of course—that he had served them that on a silver platter.

 

Which darkened his mood even more than the stupid woods they were in. The air was so heavy that he was covered in sweat, even after removing the armour’s heavy padding.

 

It was probably because of how thick and lush the trees were. He hated it already.

 

Conrad growled, reminding himself that torching a forest was not constructive. Speaking of constructive...

 

"We should be close now," he grumbled, catching the magelings attention. Casting his spell once again, he didn't spare a glance to the big cluster of lights that darted through the forest in the same direction. 

 

Instead, he followed a single, tiny dot of light that slithered away. 

 

Having to hasten his stride to not lose sight of it, he followed it through the trees, as the light bounced over roots and lighting up the undergrowth with a tiny blue glow. 

 

The way it moved reminded the mage of an especially small wisp—nasty little bastards.

 

Bushes and shrubs were becoming thicker as Conrad was led away from the trail. He could hear his students' calls as they were left behind but he didn't stop. The Nord pushed aside a moss-covered branch, and found himself in a small clearing.

 

Just in time to see the small light orb disappear under the ground, passing through it as if it was a ghost.

 

Conrad remained still for a whole minute, still looking where the magical light had disappeared. 

 

He had spent six months hiding in the College of Winterhold, teaching brats and losing his mind behind that research that had led nowhere. He had managed to create the tracking spell to find the runes that Minato had planted in his mind only thanks to a fortuitous intuition and used it to cross an Oblivion-damned ocean that nobody had dared to challenge in more than three and half centuries.

 

Spending a small fortune to rent that bloody contrebandier ship, too.

 

After all that, the first place he had managed to actually reach thanks to his clairvoyance spell was a small clearing in the middle of nowhere.

 

He felt his eye twitch.

 

Taking a deep calming breath, Conrad forced himself to think logically about the situation. What was so important about this place?

 

He started to examine his surroundings, walking slowly along the clearing. It seemed perfectly normal, just a bunch of grass and small bushes in the middle of the—

 

The thick forest.

 

The forest around was incredibly thick, so why did this clearing even exist? There was no reason for it to be natural, it should've been full of big and tall trees as the rest of the place. The soil was not poisoned or infertile.  It was pretty obvious with all the underbrush he could see.

 

So nothing would've stopped the trees' growth.

 

He moved closer to the trees around the clearing. They were younger than the others in these woods, and noticeably smaller. Less than twenty years old, probably.

 

So the clearing was free of anything bigger than a shrub, and around it the forest was slowly reclaiming the lost ground. Maybe the clearing had been created by a fire? Lightning struck a tree and—No, no. With such a thick vegetation, the destruction caused by a fire would've been on a much larger scale.

 

Something had happened here, but it was too localized... a spell, maybe—

 

"There he is!" Beta's voice distracted him. Turning towards the end of the clearing, he saw the three magelings trotting towards him, clearly out of breath. He rolled his eyes, knowing that he would have to do something about that sooner or later.

 

"Dammit, Master! Don't just ran away like that, what if—" Sven said before tumbling unceremoniously on the ground, accompanied by the sound of tinkering glass.

 

Conrad's eyes widened.

 

"Sven, be more careful! You're the one carrying the alchemy equipment!" he barked, as he walked towards them. "I swear, if you broke my alambic I will—"

 

"It wasn't my fault!" the boy tried to defend himself, still gasping for breath. "I stumbled on something!"

 

"You were walking on  _ grass _ , where could you possibly—"

 

"Wait. What's that?" Beta asked, pointing at something on the ground. Conrad followed her finger, and saw metal ring that sprung from the dirt, partially covered by the grass.

 

It was on that Sven had tripped up, and it was the place where the clairvoyance light had disappeared.

 

Conrad immediately let go of his staff and knelt besides it, scraping at the soil with his hands.

 

"What is Master Conrad doing?" Ta'Sava asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

"Digging. Either help me out or shut up," he replied. Whatever the thing was, it was connected to Minato's runes.

 

"I knew we should've taken a shovel with us," Beta lamented as she got to work.

 

"Why would anyone think to bring a shovel?" Sven muttered. "We're mages."

 

"Shut up and dig, Sven," Conrad said, deciding against biting back with a comment about how he had used shovels mostly to bury comrades and friends.

 

The deep-rooted grass and the hard soil made digging a long, tedious task, and the hot air didn't really help. Conrad was forced to remove his hood to clean off his sweat. 

 

Finally, whatever had been buried was freed with a spray of dirt and filth and most importantly, it was in Conrad's hands.

 

It was a rusted knife. The oddest one the Nord had ever seen, shaped almost like a trident.

 

It also had the puniest and least menacing blade he had ever seen on something that was clearly a weapon. Most importantly, it had one of the runes Minato had planted in his mind inscribed on the handle. 

 

Which was good news. It was a sign that he was not completely crazy. 

 

"Hey, look! There's something else in there!" Ta'Sava exclaimed. The Khajiit immediately started to rummage in the hole, having to quench his curiosity.

 

Conrad glanced towards him, still studying the strange weapon. Why would Minato place those runes there? If it had been Minato, of course.

 

"Seems like a piece of cloth," his furred student mumbled, as he started to pull with a grunt.  Despite giving it a good tug, the cloth seemed fixed into the ground, and refused to move.  "Why it's not budging?"

 

"Look, it's stuck around a rock," Sven pointed out. There was actually a round shape covered by dirt and mud, that had apparently been caught by the piece of cloth.

 

"That's a very smooth rock," Beta said, arching an eyebrow. Ta'Sava ignored her and planted his feet into the ground before pulling even harder.

 

Slowly, the string of fabric began to rise, shuffling away mud and dirt as the feline boy tightened his fingers around it. Conrad managed to see a flash of metal placed on it before a whole chunk of dirt exploded outwards as the object was finally pried free from the ground, soaring right into Ta'Sava's hands.

 

"Yes!" Ta'Sava exclaimed excitedly because of his success, even if he had fell on his rear because of the sudden lack of balance. Then his eyes widened as he saw what he was holding.

 

The piece of cloth was tied around a skull.

 

The Khajiit shrieked in fear, tossing the body part away instinctively. Which landed right in Sven's lap, who had a similar reaction and threw it back in the hole where it had come from.

 

"Guys, what's wrong with you? It's just a skull!" Beta said, apparently bewildered by their reactions. "We have seen plenty on the College's shelves!"

 

"They all belonged to someone!" Sven retorted. "How can you not be disturbed by that?!"

 

"I know that but... they're just bones," Beta said meekly. "It's not like they're undead or something."

 

As the magelings bickered, Conrad picked up the skull, raising it to eye level to examine it better.

 

"Human," he mumbled, catching the three student's attention. "Judging by the teeth and the cranium's bones, he—or she—was around his twenties the time of death."

 

"How can you tell, master?" Beta asked, taken aback.

 

"I've studied it back in the days at the College," Conrad replied, not looking towards them,

 

"You studied how to read skulls?" Sven asked incredulously. "Why would you even think about learning how to read skulls?!?"

 

"I was bored," he simply said, turning towards the three of them with a small smirk on his face. "Now do you believe me when I say that all knowledge is useful?"

 

Silence fell among the apprentices as he turned back to the skull, hoping to find some other clues. He removed the strip of cloth that was barely hanging around it and examined it. 

 

The only peculiar thing about it was the metal plaque at the center of it, rusted as the knife was.  A symbol of some kind was engraved into it: two geometrical forms which he didn’t know the meaning of. It could be anything, from a heraldic emblem to a lucky charm. He didn't know enough about Akavir's traditions to understand it.

 

He placed it on the ground beside his staff and turned over the skull. To his surprise he felt one of his fingers slip through it, like if the bone had suddenly caved in. 

 

Immediately checking, worrying to have damaged the skull, he saw that the bone hadn’t given way—there was a hole.

 

A very neat one.

 

His eyes moved towards the knife he was still holding in his other hand and slowly, very slowly, moved it towards the hole, letting it pass through.

 

"The weapon struck from the side, piercing through the bone, shattering it and tearing the brain apart," he grumbled. "A fatal wound, this guy was dead before realizing it."

 

“Why would the person that killed him leave the knife behind?” Sven asked, eyes fixed on the blade as Conrad took it out of the skull.

 

“There was no time to take it back, probably, This is a battlefield,” the Nord said, scanning the clearing once again. “One where one—or both sides had spellcasters of some kind among them.”   
  


“Mages?” Beta inquired. “I mean, battlemages?   
  


“If they have them here. That’s why this clearing exists, the forest was razed in this very specific spot,” Conrad explained. “Once the battle was over, the forces involved probably didn’t have time to retrieve lost equipment—or their fallen.”

 

“How can you be sure about that, Master?” Beta insisted.

 

“I’m not, it’s just a theory. I’m ready to bet one hundred septims that if we checked, we would find other bodies.”

 

“Then why did your spell take us here?” Sven asked in mind annoyance. “How come it led us to a clearing in the middle of nowhere?”

 

Conrad found himself unable to reply, much to his surprise. The spell had been created to track down those runes, but he had ignored—and still did—what their actual use could be. Finding them on a weapon, beside a dead body, was raising new questions in his mind.

 

What was the use of the runes during a fight? Had Minato just created them, or had he taken part in whatever skirmish—or war—that had raged here, years ago?

 

Who was his brother, really?

 

Those questions and more were whirling in his mind, and he was unable to find a—

 

Conrad's eyes widened, his body tensing slightly, as he tried to not make any sudden movements.

 

Their stalker was back.

 

He slowly put down the skull, like he wanted to leave it on the ground. Then, ignoring the weird looks the magelings were giving him, used the free hand to cast a spell, using his body to hide his actions at the best he could. 

 

His senses expanded, sensing the location of every living being in the immediate surroundings.

 

The squirrels running on a tree's bark in the forest. 

 

The birds, flying from branch to branch. 

 

The magelings standing in front of him. 

 

A group of four people hidden in the woods just behind him. 

 

Conrad was baffled. He had thought so far that they had been chased down by a single person. 

 

"So you brought friends, huh?" he whispered, reaching for his staff. "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice..."

 

In a single sweep motion he grabbed the staff and got up, throwing the three-pronged knife towards the closest enemy before breaking in a sprint.

 

The short blade impacted on a tree, having been easily dodged by the human shape hidden in the bushes. As Conrad kept running towards them giving a warcry, the group of spies seemed mesmerized for couple of seconds by the knife's shape.

 

As they focused again on him, Conrad had almost crossed the clearing and was now able to see their figures even without the use of the spell, his right hand moving towards his axe's handle.

 

They panicked, for a reason the Nord wasn't able to discern. Scrambling out of their hiding spots, they fled with a nimbleness that Conrad’s gaze could barely catch. In the blink of an eye, they were gone, and out of the range of his spell. He wouldn't have been able to catch up to them even by shouting the Whirlwind Spirit. 

 

Conrad stopped, knowing it was futile trying to pursue them. No wonder he hadn't been able to find their first stalker on the mountain pass!

 

He could still hear the echo of their screams, though, especially the two words they kept shouting over and over.

 

The Nord briefly wondered if 'Kiroi Senko' meant something like 'Run for your lives', but he was still puzzled by their reaction.

 

Why had they fled like that?

 

More importantly, he thought, as he looked at his right hand in confusion, why had he thrown that stupid knife, instead of using a good old-fashioned fireball?

 

* * *

 

In his years of duty as Konoha's Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen had taken to heart a single piece of advice: to keep a moment of his day to relax, a moment spent  _ not _ having to think about the piles of documents, and being able to be  _ part  _ of the village by living among its inhabitants instead of being locked in his office all the time.

 

Sadly, the current state of affairs had greatly reduced the time he could slack off from his duties. He had even been forced to eat his lunch in the office in the last few days. 

 

He didn't bat an eye as one of the lights that had become the bane of his existence entered from the window and moved towards Minato's picture hung on the wall, beside the other Kage before him.

 

"Five minutes late today," he mumbled without stopping his reading of the papers splayed out on his desk. His eyes widened before a scowl settled on his face. Just like a good part of the village's population, shinobi or not, he was getting too accustomed to the strange phenomenon that kept mocking all their defenses.

 

He went back studying the letters, hoping that the people responsible would be caught soon.

 

Tomorrow he would have to announce that Konoha had been selected to host the Chunin Exams. If foreign shinobi saw Konoha's "weakness" the word would quickly spread across all the Elemental Nations. Another village could even try something to test them.

 

Sarutobi really, really hated those lights.

 

“Minato,” he sighed, “maybe if you hadn’t left behind so many seals we wouldn’t have such a great security risk on our—”

 

His words died in his mouth as a small toad jumped in from the window, landing in the middle of his desk.

 

It seemed that Jiraiya had sent another report. 

 

The small amphibian turned towards the Hokage, and with a barfing noise, it spat out a small sealing scroll that rolled amongst the important parchments, leaving a few drips of toad drool in its wake.

 

Then the toad looked at him almost expectantly, as Sarutobi stopped with a finger the scroll's drifting before more papers were soiled by it.

 

"Can I have candy now?" the summon asked eagerly. The Hokage frowned at the messenger toad, causing it to dispel in disappointment.

 

Once the puff of smoke cleared up, the now alone Hokage made some space on the desk and released the scrolls' contents.

 

There were only two items inside, but he almost didn’t register the handwritten message that was seemingly written in a haste.

 

His eyes were too focused on the bizarrely-shaped sword. A kind of sword he hadn't seen for almost thirty-nine years.

 

* * *

 

The feminine-shaped figure stretched itself, pirouetting less than a foot from the ground, the flames that framed its body lighting up the dark forest. Once it had finished, it turned towards its master.

 

“Patrol around the campsite,” Conrad ordered to the flame atronach. The summoned creature swiftly obeyed, and the Nord grunted in satisfaction. Between the explosive runes, the wards, and the creatures he had conjured around the woods, the camp was secure enough. He decided it was time to rejoin the magelings around the campfire. 

 

Four days had passed since they had left the clearing where he had found the weird knife that was now hung on his belt, along with his dagger. There had been no sign of their pursuers after they had fled, but he hadn’t survived for so long without taking precautions.

 

“Supper is almost ready, Master,” Sven said, hearing him approaching as he took a spoonful from the firepot. “Wish I had more spices.”

 

“Ta’Sava doesn’t care about taste as long as it’s filling,” the Khajiit mumbled from the spot he was sprawled lazily. “Ta’Sava is hungry.”

 

“You all would be forced to eat this stuff raw, if it wasn’t for me,” Sven said smugly, indicating his fellow student with his wooden spoon. 

 

“Ta’Sava is also too tired to insult Sven creatively,” the cat boy replied.

 

“Well, if Sven hadn’t learned how to cook, Master Conrad would be forced to burn all our meals with his fire breath,” Beta giggled as she mounted her tent. 

 

“Eight preserve us,” the Imperial muttered, causing his two companions to burst out in a laugh.

 

Conrad snorted, sitting down at the base of a tree, a little away from the fire and not looking at it directly. He didn’t want the flames to ruin his night vision. 

 

He started to unbuckle his armour, placing the single pieces carefully on the ground. He hadn’t taken it off at all in the last days and his whole body felt sore, every muscle aching with stiffness. 

 

More importantly, he felt filthy. 

 

The next river on their way, no matter what, he would take a bath in. The magelings too, if they wished.

 

So long as there were no limiting circumstances, of course. Like groups of armed people following them.

 

“Here, Master,” Beta called to him, handing a steaming cup to him. “Dinner’s ready.”

 

He accepted it with a nod. Rice and assorted roots. Well, at least it was a warm meal he could enjoy before resting.

 

"So what do you think?" Sven asked to his companions, passing Ta'Sava his own portion. 

 

"About what?" Beta asked, stirring the contents of her bowl.

 

"About Akavir," Sven clarified.

 

Conrad sighed silently. Of  _ course _ they would not eat their rice in  _ silence _ . He sagely decided to ignore them and frown at his own dinner.

 

"Nothing much, it would be better if we could talk with people," the girl replied, sounding actually sad. "I would like to see one of their cities, too. Real cities, not those small villages we passed by."

 

"We saw some nice mountains, though," Ta'Sava butted in. "This forest, too. Is big and weird. Ta'Sava has never seen most of the plants here before."

 

"We should get samples!" Sven brightened up. "You know, to see how they could be used in alchemy."

 

"It's so exciting! Nobody from Tamriel did this in centuries... we may even write a book about our journey once we—"

 

"That may not be a good idea," Conrad interrupted abruptly, not liking where the discussion was going.

 

"What?” the girl asked, stupefied. Beside her, the two boys were having a similar reaction at his words. “Why?"

 

"It's—" Conrad hesitated, not really sure what explanation he could give. "I don't think it would be wise to spread the word of our expedition, that's all. Or at least of  _ who  _ was part of it."

 

"You mean... that we can't talk about our journey to anyone?"

 

"Yes, that's what I'm saying," he said with a tone of finality. 

 

"Master, are you—” Beta tried to ask, hesitating for a moment. “—are you ashamed of us?"

 

"What? No!” Conrad said, outraged. How could she think that? “That's not—I just want to—"

 

"Oh I see it now. You want all the glory, don't you Master?” Sven sneered, meeting his gaze. 

 

"The glory? What are you babbling about, Sven?" the Nord asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“You don't want to share it with your magelings," the young mage continued. "This is probably going to be the most important research expedition of the century, and you won't want to divide the spoils once we will be back home!"

 

"The spoils? Sven, I—we don't even know what we could find here!"

 

"Sure you don't. You didn't even tell us where you found those runes. You know? The one we are following?" Sven insisted, slowly raising his voice. "Who would believe that you don't know what we're supposed to look for?"

 

"I—"

 

"I thought that you were supposed to be a legend, but in the end you're just a selfish liar that cares only about himself!"

 

Conrad reeled from the comment, taken aback by Sven's biting tone.

 

He searched his other students' gazes—a half-hearted attempt to prove to himself that maybe they didn't really think anything so ridiculous—but the moment his eyes met Beta's, she cast them to the ground, her fingers fumbling in her lap. He turned to Ta'Sava, expecting him too to call up Sven on his insolence, only to be met with a submissive silence.

 

They weren't supporting Sven, but they weren't disregarding him either.

 

He turned back to Sven, and saw his student staring straight back into his eyes. Conrad knew anger when he saw it, and recognized it behind Sven's glare. 

Along with another thing: challenge.

 

Well, the Imperial wasn't the only one getting angry.

 

Conrad’s blood was boiling now, and he was sure that his eyes had become slitted. He could tell because his _ soul  _ was demanding to put the young Imperial back in his place.

 

Instead—showing what he considered a considerable dose of self-control—he slowly reached for his bag, briefly rummaging through it before taking out one of the last two mead bottles he still had.

 

“Believe whatever you want,  _ kid _ . I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he growled, walking away from the camp without looking at his students.

 

Conrad kept strolling until he was almost at the limit of the perimeter he had created around the campsite. Somewhere in the distance he could see his summoned atronachs moving around the dark forest. At least they still had the decency of not putting the whole place on fire. Teaching them to not do that had been difficult, back in the days.

 

“Stupid kids,” he said, as he popped up the bottle. “Why didn’t they stay at the College?” 

 

He drank roughly half of the bottle in one go, enjoying the sweet taste and how the alcohol smothered his ire. 

 

What did they know about the risks they would incur if they became associated with him? Worse, if they became known as his  _ students _ . 

 

They were too young, they were too vulnerable, and they were not prepared for the whole mess their life could become. Like his had become.

 

What did they know? What did they know of having to watch your back all the time, or the whole cloak and dagger business, or having to be on the move the whole time, not staying in the same place for longer than necessary? 

 

What did they know of finding their friends dead, their throats slit? Of the people disappeared in the night, never to be seen again? Of the companions and comrades dying for stupid reasons? Of the lovers—

 

“Oh no,” he muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to dwell on  _ that _ .”

 

He took another sip. He didn’t want to remember—

 

His bitter musings were interrupted as he felt his connection to one of his summoned creatures being suddenly severed. Not even a second later, he saw a bright explosion in the distance, and some trees were set on fire.

 

His eyes widened. Somebody was killing his atronachs. And the magelings were alone.

 

Conrad dropped the bottle and started to run the way he had come from.   

 

"Stupid, stupid stupid!" he scolded himself as he called upon his magicka reserves. "Why the fuck did I leave the camp?!"

 

He needed to be able to find their attackers. As the spell showed him the living beings in the surroundings, he felt some relief when he sensed the magelings. 

 

They were alive, but apparently unconscious and there were more figures around them. Their pursuers, without a doubt. But there seemed to be more than four—   

 

He heard the sound of something spinning beside him, nicking his left arm. 

 

Conrad let out a grunt of surprise, the pain dull and not much compared to some past injuries, but what had he been hit with? That was too small to be an arrow or a throwing knife. 

 

He needed protection anyway, and gearing up with his armour in the camp was not an option. He let the magicka pass through his skin, hardening it so that it was almost as resistant as iron. 

 

It wasn't like wearing his armour, but it would do.

 

Next thing, he would need a weapon—

 

He blindly dodged to his right, avoiding being impaled by a sword that instead barely scraped his hardened forearm. It hurt, but it wasn't a deep wound. 

 

The enemy had been fast, very fast. It had caught up with Conrad at an impossible speed, just like the four stalkers that had fled from him in the clearing days before. Maybe even faster. Hadn't it been for his spell, he wouldn't have seen the attack coming.

 

This guy was not one of them though. His attacker was wearing some kind of pale mask decorated with markings and a dark set of clothes that covered him from head to toe, with a matching armour to boot. In the dark of the forest, with the distant fire light reflecting off the smooth surface of the mask, it was actually disconcerting.

 

Whoever this masked freak was, he was more dangerous than those cowards. Not that it mattered. 

 

Letting go of his Detect Life spell, Conrad sent two twin streams of lightning towards his still crouched opponent, who just evaded them with a somersault that reminded him of some acrobats he had seen during his travels.

 

As he was preparing another barrage, the Nord felt a strong grip on his right wrist and his shoulder and suddenly his whole arm was twisted behind his own back. Someone had put him in a grapple. 

 

Damn, these guys were really fast. 

 

Conrad tried to struggle away but the bastard was not giving up. Not even when he started to kick his shins—even if the muffled grunts of pain were a joy for his ears.

 

The masked attacker quickly came close, right in front of him as his partner was blocking his movements. Instead of attempting to strike him down with his sword, he started to do strange gestures with his hands.

 

Conrad decided to not waste the opportunity.

 

**“FUS!”** he shouted, causing the man in front of him to stagger at the sheer strength that his voice invested him. Before his capturer could do anything, he quickly gathered his energies and released another spell.

 

His body was immediately set ablaze, or at least it appeared so as the cloak of flames covered him without burning him. 

 

The enemy behind him was forced to let go to not burn his hands. The fire drove away the darkness of the night, and Conrad could see that he was surrounded.

 

Four masked figures, holding an assortment of weapons, were all around him. Two of them were even hanging upside-down from three branches. Not that he cared how that was possible right now. 

 

For some reason, they were hesitating. Maybe it was because of the fact that a man was  _ on fire _ in front of them. It wouldn’t last for long though.

 

Manipulating the energies of the plane of Oblivion once again, he conjured a daedric axe into his hand. 

 

The reaction was immediate. The attack, carried out without hesitation. A chain coiled around his arm and with a vicious tug, it tightened, biting his skin even through his clothes. 

 

Taking advantage of his disability, the other three masked freaks attacked him at the same time.

 

Twisting his trapped arm, Conrad yanked the chain with all his might, unbalancing the man holding it, making him collide against one of his partners. Turning around he was even able to block the strike of one of the remaining two with his free arm. There was nothing he could do for the last one, though.

 

He was kicked—kicked, of all things!—on his left ear, the blow completely unexpected.  A flash of pain exploded in his head as his vision became blurred. Conrad was pretty sure that hadn’t he hardened his skin, he would’ve been knocked out.

 

Freeing the right arm from the now loosened chain, he turned towards the now exposed attacker, taking a swing with the conjured axe. He grinned as he felt the impact of the weapon on the enemy’s body, only to widen his eyes when he realized what he had actually hit.

 

Instead of being impaled in a human torso, the axe’s head was stuck in a thick log.

 

Before he could even ask himself what had happened, Conrad felt something smash into his side, and he was sent flying through the air. The landing was not soft and he lost his grip on the daedric weapon as he tumbled across the dirt. 

 

He finally stopped on his back, gasping for breath. 

 

The grass around him was already alight as he rolled back to his feet. Something sprouted out of the ground, something big and Conrad instinctively tried to roll over to dodge it. 

 

The Nord found himself unable to move in a blink of an eye, something grasping and squeezing his legs. Glancing down towards them, he saw a thick spiral of wood ensnaring his limbs.

 

In a different context he would’ve surely appreciated seeing such a marvelous example of Akaviri sorcery. Right now, though, he just yelled some profanities as he tried to blast away the wood that was trapping him—and the blasted thing refused to be be damaged from the flames shrouding his figure  _ or  _ his spells!

 

More curses followed when the branch continued to grow upwards, reaching his torso. He didn’t have time to deal with it, however, as one of his opponents had recovered and appeared with surprising speed right in melee with him. If not for Conrad’s decades of fighting experience, his reflexes wouldn’t have been fast enough to deflect the strike aimed for his head, and snatch the other man’s clothes. 

 

Now speed wouldn’t matter so much, and the Nord wasted no time in abusing that advantage. Also, he was still on fire. That was kind of like playing dirty, thankfully he had no problem with that. Particularly not when the enemy had started it first, attacking a group of  _ children _ .

 

Conrad yanked the man towards him, causing him to lose his balance. As the masked guy was still falling, he punched, aiming for the head. The sound of his fist impacting against the mask was very satisfying. 

 

He punched again, and again, until the strange wood immobilized one of his arms, while his punching bag stopped his other one. But he was closer now.

 

Leaning his head back, he brought it forward with as much force as he could muster. The sound of a mask shattering, and the feeling of blood trickling down his face—not  _ his _ blood—he counted as a small victory even if his defeat seemed inevitable.

 

Two times in less than one year? He was really getting old. 

 

The not-anymore-masked man fell down besides him but he could hear the other three coming towards him. He had maybe the time for a single shout—again, twice in a single year!—and briefly considered using the Storm Call but... the magelings were too close. 

 

Accidentally frying the magelings was not an option. And he needed something able to put down these guys.

 

Why not do another thing two times in the same year?

 

**"DUR NEH** — **"**

 

Pain blossoming against his temple was the last thing he recalled before unconsciousness claimed him.

 

**-Dream-**

 

He dreamed the red haired woman again. He ran his hand through her beautiful hair, and she smiled at him. 

 

She kissed him for the first time.

 

* * *

 

Pain.   
  
Pain was the first thing he felt. A throbbing headache that was comparable to the mother of all hangovers. Among various cuts and bruises on his whole body.

 

Which was good. It meant that he was still alive, even if it hurt like a bitch.

 

Besides the pain, though, there were other sensations that he started to feel as time passed and his mind started to work properly again. 

 

He felt groggy, with a numbness that had probably not been caused by the strike that knocked him out. There was also a strange taste in his mouth.   
  
He had been drugged. 

 

He also felt the cold metal around his wrists, and the weight of the restraints placed on him. 

 

He had been chained.

 

He was hungry and thirsty. Which meant that he had been unconscious for a long while.

He dared to open his eyes to check his surroundings. The light, even if dim, hurt. Conrad wasn't sure if it was because of the hit to his head or the drugs they had given to him.

 

It was a small room. Four walls, a door, and his chains. A cell.

 

He also found out that he had been sleeping on the floor.

 

At least it wasn't Cidhna Mine.

 

He tried to get up but his legs were not responding. Maybe the drug had some effect on his muscles?

 

Managing to sit on his butt,vaguely taking note that they had left him his clothes at least—whoever they were—he started to look around the empty cell.

 

It was actually a strange room. No stone, no bars in the door. A mirror, for some reason he really couldn't fathom. The strangest thing, the one that made him pause though, was the light source. 

 

Conrad had expected a lantern or a torch.

 

Instead, stuck in the ceiling, there was a yellow light globe that seemed to radiate light on its own, without a fire.

 

Was it some kind of spell? Or an enchanted item? 

 

Conrad thought about it for a moment. A spell would've required a constant source of magicka to not dissipate after a while, and if that was the case he would've sensed it. At the same time, who would throw away money placing a light in a prison cell? 

 

It didn't make sense—

 

He heard someone clear their throat to his left.

 

Conrad's head snapped towards the sound, or at least he wanted it to. The drugs rendered the movement incredibly slow.

 

He found himself staring at a man that he was sure hadn't been there before. 

 

A short, old man with white robes and a strangely-shaped red hat.

 


	8. Photos, Drawings and Memories

Sarutobi Hiruzen had prepared himself for multiple worst-case scenarios he had imagined over the past few weeks.

 

However, the more they found out about the lights that were able to track the  _ Hiraishin _ seals, the more worried he had become. 

 

For one thing, he suspected Iwa’s involvement, as they had a history of antagonism towards Konoha—to say the least—and Minato himself. Finding out that the Tsuchikage was as confused as he was about the nature of the phenomena had only brought about  _ more _ worry.

 

Dealing with unknown dangers was not something that a wise man, shinobi or not, was eager to do. Oh, it could be done, it  _ would _ be done, if it was deemed necessary, but it wasn’t something to take lightly. 

 

Then, while one of his best ANBU teams was tracking the—moving—source of the lights, his former student had sent a quickly-written report, complete with attached evidence, regarding a strange-looking ship that had anchored on the Earth Country’s shores. 

 

A ship similar to another one that his students had stumbled upon thirty… eight years ago? Or was it thirty-seven? 

 

A ship that, unlike the previous one, was still manned by weirdly-dressed men that had begun bartering for supplies with the locals. Paying in good silver, from what Jiraiya had written. And being cheated on the prices quite a bit as well. 

 

Being tricked into buying cheap merchandize at bloated prices notwithstanding, the Sandaime was ready to bet his pipe that it had came from the same land Minato had come from—whenever that may have been. Not being able to give the young man more information about his origins was just one item on his long list of regrets, yet no matter the map, library or archive he had checked over the years, he had found nothing. 

 

After Minato’s death, he had given up. With Minato gone and the village in disarray, there was no point in chasing old ghosts. 

 

Now though, a ship coming—probably—from the same distant shores had appeared just as someone had figured out how to track Minato’s seals.   
  


Hiruzen had not kept his village safe from certain doom by believing in coincidence. 

 

He had to admit that when he had been informed of the mission’s success and the capture of the parties responsible, he had dared to feel a little relief. The team would bring them back to Konoha and questions could be asked. 

 

Using any possible means deemed necessary to ensure the gain of the answers.

 

Of course, Sarutobi was an old fool to expect things to be that easy. You didn’t survive as a shinobi for so long by hoarding large amounts of good karma, at least not usually.

 

He struck a match on the cell’s wall and slowly lit his pipe, eyes not moving from the prisoner’s own. 

 

There were differences, of course.

 

The man in front of him was older, three scars were running on the right side of his face and he seemed to cultivate an appreciation for facial hair.

 

Even so, the resemblance was uncanny.

 

The eyes, though… those eyes were completely different. 

 

Minato's eyes had always been kind, warm and caring, unless the person under their gaze was a danger to the village. Then they turned cold, made of steel and you just knew the man was going to do anything in his power to stop you.

 

The stranger's eyes reminded Sarutobi of an old soldier, a man that had seen too many things and had carried too many sorrows and regrets. There was also something that he couldn't really place, but it could've been because of the drugs keeping him subdued..

 

He also seemed more interested into the light bulb than him, for some reason.

 

There were other differences as well, which confused Sarutobi a little more.

 

Posture, body language and mannerism. Everything was wrong, the most un-shinobi he had seen in a prisoner whose capture had required the effort of a whole ANBU team.

 

He would've almost bought it at face-value. Almost.

 

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” he asked, not thinking that anything would’ve changed since the last attempt. “I am Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Sandaime Hokage. As you may have understood by now, you’re a prisoner of Konoha.”

 

At the sound of his voice the stranger looked straight at him once again, staring at him for a few seconds while visibly trying to balance his body, still numbed by the narcotic.

 

_ “Look, old man. I told you already, I don’t understand anything of what you’re saying,”   _ the blond said in a tired tone. Sarutobi could understand most of the sounds but they made no logical sense to him.

 

He had tried in the last hour to ask the obvious questions to the man, but he had always answered in an unintelligible way. 

 

The Sandaime was not a linguist, but he didn’t need to be to realize that this was not a weird-sounding accent. It was a completely different language. An  _ unknown _ one.

 

While everything seemed to point at some unknown group from outside the known lands, he couldn't dismiss the chance that this was an incredibly contrived plot.

 

For all he knew Orochimaru—who was  _ very _ aware of a few certain facts about Minato’s origins—could’ve been responsible.

 

_ "Bet you can't understand me either,” _ the man's gruff voice said. _ “Otherwise I would ask about those three magelins of mine." _

 

The tone the stranger had used was detached, almost callous. Yet there was something hidden behind it.

 

Concern.

 

Was the stranger feeling concern for himself, or for his younger companions though? 

 

"Pity," the Sandaime said, deciding that it was time to throw a little bait for testing the waters. "I was hoping you could tell us why you were tracking Minato's seals..."

 

At the mention of the Yondaime's name, the man's eyes shot towards him, comprehension clearly visible in them.

 

So, there was at least one word he understood. Which didn't really make sense.

 

How could someone from outside the Elemental Nations know the first name of the Yondaime Hokage, since it was Hiruzen that had given it to him? Or even know about the Hiraishin, for that matter. There was also the matter of how he had found one of those kunai, as well.

 

Ignoring the Minato lookalike, Sarutobi dismissed himself and his form exploded in a puff of smoke.

 

Back in the Hokage's office, the real Sandaime stopped reading some documents concerning the upcoming exams when he had the sudden idea of letting the original deal with the headache he was feeling. 

 

He was still for a second before collecting his thoughts. Clone memory feedback could get confusing sometimes.

 

Sarutobi pinched his nose with a groan, momentarily forgetting about the stack of papers. Why did this have to get more and more complicated by the minute?

 

"Alright," he sighed placing the documents on the top of a neatly stacked pile. “Time to deal with this and get answers, no matter what.”

 

Quickly getting a hold of a blank sheet of paper and a few modules, the old Hokage started to scribble some specifications about the course of action in the prisoners' interrogations. 

 

Specifically, adding a few unusual, rarely needed procedures. 

 

* * *

 

Conrad blinked as the old man disappeared, seemingly exploding in a thick whiff of smoke. 

 

He had seen a lot of strange things in his travels—and that was the greatest understatement of the Fourth Era—but this was new even to him.

 

Some kind of local spell, maybe? The old man really looked like the classic figure of the old mage, with robes, weird hat and all.

 

Oh great. Now he was rambling on his own. Whatever the masked bastards had given to him, it really made it difficult to focus.

 

Since he didn't have anything better to do, he could as well get his thoughts in order as he waited for its effects to wear down.

 

He was a prisoner, that was a fact. The cell and the chains were a big giveaway. 

 

The manacles needed a special mention though. There were some runes inscribed all around them, and if he looked at them closely he could see the faint, ghostly glow that they were emitting at regular intervals. He felt like a fool for not noticing it sooner.

 

Those bracelets, or to be more specific those runes, were sucking away his magicka.

 

Not completely, thank the Nines. It seemed that the ratio to which he was being depleted was slightly inferior to the one at which his magicka reserves were replenishing themselves.

 

Starting to throw magic without care as he usually did would leave him seriously depleted though.

 

Even if he was an untalented enchanter at best, he would've really liked to study how they worked. Containing spellcasters was always a problem back at home, unless you restrained them completely. Or broke their hands, or resorted to even more... drastic methods if you wanted to be sure. 

 

He considered himself lucky that they had limited his bindings to just these pair of glorified shackles.

 

They itched a lot, tough. Which was terrible.

 

Focus. You’re not senile yet, as nice as that would be. Focus.

 

Tapping to his magical energies wasn't different from the usual, manacles or not.

 

He could feel all the living beings around his cell. There were many, a few dozens at least. Some lingered around—guards? Other prisoners?—but there was a  noticeable coming and going of people, especially above him.

 

Probably a keep's prison or a similar place, if he had to make an educated guess. 

 

Even if he had left his cell using his magic or the Thu'um—thank goodness they hadn't gagged him—there was no way to tell where his students were. He didn’t stand a chance trying to look for them, especially if the guards were the masked freaks that had ambushed him in the forest. 

 

No; Conrad knew that this would take subtlety, much more than he was used to.

 

What really worried him was that the old man had said something about Minato. The way his luck went, the man probably had an ancient grudge against his brother.

 

Hopefully they wouldn’t let him starve at least. 

 

* * *

 

The tension in the room was palpable to every one of the people that had recently passed through it.

 

So palpable, in fact, even the villagers had started to gossip about what was troubling the shinobi of their village. 

 

In truth, only the higher ranking individuals of the village were aware of the whole situation, though their subordinates had noticed that some had expressed their concern in the privacy of their own homes.

 

The rumor mill had done the rest. 

 

The old Kage sighed, looking out over his village from his office window. He knew that the stories whispered on the marketplaces, bars and homes were either completely made up, or exaggerations of reality. He couldn't help but frown at the thought that just a bit too many were about the condition of his spine.

 

"Tsuchikage-sama...?" his secretary called meekly, daring to get Oonoki's attention after a few minutes of silence. 

 

He turned towards his audience, the best shinobi of Iwagakure, who were all waiting for his decision on this delicate matter.

 

The investigation had led to nothing, even when he had sent his own teams beyond the border. Except for the discovery of an abandoned campsite. A campsite that had been attacked by shinobi. 

 

The attackers had been good at concealing their traces, but Iwa-nins were not famous for their earth-based techniques for nothing. Creating rock spikes or throwing giant boulders at the enemy was just one of the many possible uses.

 

While the squad's tracker had not being able to discern everything that had transpired in that place, it was clear what direction the winning party had left toward, taking prisoners with them.

 

Konoha.

 

Which meant that whatever answers he may had hoped to get about this "Yellow Flash Sightings" were now somewhere behind the gates of their long-term adversaries. 

 

Tree-hugging bastards. 

 

"Are you sure that it was  _ him _ ?" the Tsuchikage asked, talking to the leader of the squad that had the closest contact with their target. 

 

"Quite certain, Tsuchikage-sama," the kunoichi, Gareki Ishina said.

 

"Quite, you say? Do you mean that you have some doubts?" Oonoki asked, frowning. The jonin finched visibly at this, but didn't reply, avoiding the Kage's eyes. 

 

The Tsuchikage knew that the woman was a loyal kunoichi, a veteran of the Third Shinobi War to boot, which meant that her opinion on this matter was highly valued. Sadly it seemed that her recent experience had awakened way too unpleasant memories.

 

Especially those involving the Yondaime Hokage. Still, there were more important matters than a jonin suffering from post-traumatic disorder at stake, here. 

 

"Well? We’re not getting younger, girl. Out with it!” the old Kage pressed on.

 

"I... I can't say for certain, sir,” the woman replied, quickly regaining her composure. “The man was old enough, he resembled the Y— _ that man  _ a lot but more importantly…Those eyes, sir,” she finally said, frowning. “I saw them as he threw one of  _ those  _ kunai towards my squad. I would never mistake those eyes."

 

“The reports collected from various villages describe this man wearing a suit of armour, though,” one of Oonoki’s advisers said, seeing the discrepancy. “And neither he nor his companions were wearing any identifying insegna, or standard shinobi gear.”

 

“It may have been an undercover mission,” one of the other ninja in the room butted in. “Masquerading as mercenary escorting some customers, or something like that.”   
  
“Why go in an undercover mission if you start to cast a jutsu that fires multiple lights in the Land of Fire’s direction?!” the councilor exclaimed in outrage. “That’s preposterous!”    
  
“Enough,” Oonoki said, immediately silencing the argument before it could start. “No matter how we look at it or try to rationalize this, we need answers. Even if the trail seems to go straight into the home of our enemies.”

 

“I volunteer for the task, Tsuchikage-sama!” Ishina declared, taking a step forward. The Tsuchikage looked straight into her eyes, but she didn’t break eye contact.

 

“No,” he said firmly, considering the kunoichi’s past. “You’re too involved, you may be a liability for the mission.”

 

“I insist, sir,” she replied, surprising everyone in the room. The woman had guts, nobody would deny that. 

 

“Oh? So, you think you can do better than me, youngster?” Oonoki asked in a mocking tone. “Do you think that you can take a decision for the best interest of the village?”

 

She better had a good reason to defy him, otherwise he would send her to teach the brats at the Academy.

 

“No, sir. I believe that not sending me with the team would be a great a waste of our assets.”

 

“A waste of our assets? You have a high opinion of yourself,” one of her fellow jonin said scoffing. 

 

“Excuse me?” she exclaimed in genuine surprise, frowning at her colleague. “I’m the only one here who—”

 

“Just because you  _ ran _ as everyone was—”

 

“Don’t you dare, you—”

 

“Stand down, both of you,” Oonoki ordered, defusing yet another argument before it could turn into a scuffle. “Gareki-san, you better tell me one good reason to send you on this mission, and do it now.”

 

"Sir with all due respect, if we take in consideration the worst-case scenario, I have the most experience to deal with it,” she proclaimed, fully confident of her abilities. “I know what to expect and I will not be a liability to this mission. And more importantly, I should be sent because I will bring my team back alive, no matter what.”

 

“I see,” the Kage muttered, nodding solemnly. “Very well then, I suppose you should get acquainted with your genin at once if we want to be sure that our teams will be accepted.”

 

“My… my what?” the kunoichi asked in confusion, her confident expression evaporating at the unexpected news, much to the old man’s amusement.

 

“The Chunin Exams are an international event, after all,” Oonoki said, a smug grin forming on his face, before turning towards his secretary. “Procure me a list of the youngest shinobi among our forces of any rank. If they find even a single trace of that blond bastard they'll report back immediately!”

 

* * *

 

"Isn’t it strange?" Naruto asked, slumped on the bridge's railing in an incredibly bored tone. He had spent the last hours pacing up and down the usual meeting spot, before finally give up because of the boredom. 

 

"What’s strange?" Sakura asked from the other side of the bridge. "Kakashi-sensei is always late."

 

"No, not that," the blond said, looking at the bright and cloudless sky. "I was thinking about those lights. The ones from before that everyone was worked up over."

 

"What about them?" 

 

"Well, they scared the whole village and kept coming for a while, but then they stopped all of the sudden," he murmured. 

 

"Isn't that a good thing?" the girl asked. "I mean, it was obviously a jutsu… even if I never read about something like that in our books..."  

 

“Of course it’s good," Naruto answered turning quickly towards the kunoichi. "It just bothers me how nobody is going to tell us anything about it!”

 

“If you’re so curious, why don’t you try to ask?” Sakura proposed. 

 

“I tried to ask but I couldn’t even see the Old Man lately, he’s busy with something," he said, pouting as he laid his back against the railing, his hands coming up to lace themselves behind his head. "And neither Kakashi-sensei or Iruka-sensei would tell me.” 

 

“If those lights have stopped, it’s probably because the responsible was dealt with,” Sasuke suddenly said, without looking towards his teammates. 

 

“What do you mean, ‘dealt with’?” Naruto asked, looking at the Uchiha in confusion.

 

Instead of answering, Sasuke slowly turned towards Naruto and stared at him coldly. The blond’s eyes widened in realization, and so did Sakura’s.

 

“Way to ruin the mood for the day, Sasuke.”

 

“Excuse me if I think that an enemy was probably killed. Idiot.”

 

“Hey!” 

 

“Maybe… maybe they have been killed, but don’t you think that the Hokage would want to find out why they did it instead?”

 

"You know, cute little genin shouldn't poke their noses in stuff that doesn't concern them," a familiar voice said behind them.

 

"YOU'RE LATE!" Naruto and Sakura immediately shouted, getting quickly over their sensei's sudden arrival. 

 

"A nice lady asked me for directions, and—"

 

"LIAR!" the two loud twelve years olds yelled, interrupting the older shinobi before they could hear whatever half-baked excuse he prepared this time. Sasuke instead just sneered at his general direction. 

 

"Alright, we had our fun. Time to start the morning training though. We've wasted enough time."

 

"And who's fault is that?" Naruto mumbled, glancing at him accusingly. It seemed that even Sasuke was agreeing with the blond, for once. 

 

"After training, we'll go ask for some mission at the Hokage Tower," the jonin kept explaining. 

 

"Oh great. More D-rank chores," the blonde groaned, while his teammates flinched at the perspective of another trash-collecting, fence-painting, cat-catching or other task a random villager needed that day.

 

"Maybe we could do some extra physical conditioning as well, once today's mission is over," Kakashi finished, taking his favourite book out of his jacket vest. A little exercise would do the kids good. 

 

"What?! But—"

 

"NARUTO, SHUT UP!” Sakura scolded him. “Don't make it worse than it is!"

 

Kakashi ignored his students' antics as he led them towards their usual training ground, but he secretly understood why they were curious about the mysterious event. To tell the truth, he would've liked to know as well given the mysterious jutsu had something to do with his own sensei, or at least, his sensei’s signature technique.

 

The investigation was still in-progress though, and having been declared a S-rank emergency, it wasn't his place to question the Sandaime directly.

 

Although he  _ could _ pester Tenzo a little about the prisoners his team had taken back to the village, once his team had been entered in the upcoming exams.

 

* * *

 

Conrad was sitting on a chair made of metal, of all things. It was incredibly uncomfortable, and he had the suspicion that it had been designed to be that way. On the other side of a polished table made of the same material, were two people: a man and a woman.

 

Besides the old man with a goatee, they were the first faces he had seen since waking up in his cell, and they were glaring at him like he was trash. 

 

The man with the bandana was mostly unremarkable, except for the strong chin and the scars covering his face. 

 

The woman, on the other hand, besides being very attractive, had purple hair.

 

Purple. Hair. 

 

A dark shade, but still…

 

_ Purple _ .

 

Conrad had never seen—or heard—of someone with such a hair colour. It was probably dyed, but still… who dyed their hair purple?

 

The only accessory they both wore, besides pouches, was a metallic plate on their foreheads, similar to the one he had found on that skull. It had a different symbol though, which reminded him of a badly-drawn snail.

 

Hair colour and snails aside, they both gave him the same impression. They were dangerous  _ and _ used to situations like this.

 

At the corners of the small room instead, there were four of the masked guards. They may as well have been carved in stone from how still they were standing, but he could feel the barely held hostility against him. 

 

It reminded him of that time he had stumbled upon a reunion of some Stormcloaks’ veterans by pure chance, a few years ago. This time though, there was no mead.

 

The room itself was very plain, besides one of those not-magical bulbs of light on the ceiling and a large mirror on one side. 

 

He had no idea what purpose the mirror served, given the rest of the room, but he remained wary of it.

 

The now named Scars and Purple exchanged a quick glance. Then, the man took a thin pile of parchment out of a bag, each sheet no wider than his palm. He placed one on the center of the table.

 

Conrad's mind immediately took a double take as he saw it. On it was a perfect reproduction of the swarm of the tracking lights generated by his clairvoyance spell.

 

Then, Scar placed another paper right besides the first, this one picturing a single light passing close to a panicked person in a weird outfit.

 

Then another one, showing a different scene. And another one, and another one again. 

 

Why would anyone paint that? Who would waste their time painting that to such detail?!?

 

Although, after a careful look, he had to admit that whoever the artist was was really good. There were no brush marks or defects in the paint, and the surface was completely smooth.

 

Even if Conrad appreciated the art, albeit in such a strange form, he couldn't help but wonder what the point of it was. 

 

_ “What’s with this guy?” _ the purple-haired woman said, arching an eyebrow. _ “It’s like he’s never seen a photo before.” _

 

_ "We know you can't understand us, so that makes interrogating you quite difficult, no matter what ... measures we would employ, _ " Scars said in a low, gruff tone, ignoring his companion and not breaking eye contact with Conrad. 

 

The Nord had no idea what the man had said, but it  _ sounded _ like he was trying to be intimidating. 

 

How cute. 

 

Sadly for him, he couldn’t hold a candle to most of the beings he had the displeasure of talking with. Especially because he couldn't grasp the unfamiliar language at all.

 

" _ We can still make you understand that we mean business though _ ," the woman said, taking the remaining small paintings from her fellow interrogator and laying them on the top of the others with a wicked smile.

 

Conrad's blood froze. 

 

Just like the previous ones, the image was perfect down to the most minuscule detail, almost like if a piece of the real world had been trapped on the small paper.

 

Ta'Sava was staring right at him with a worried and yet curious expression, his ears pointed forwards. 

 

Sven had been painted mid-yelling, one finger pointed towards who looked at the picture. At his hands, manacles similar to Conrad's own were clearly visible.

 

Beta's eyes instead were red and puffy, like she had been crying for a long time, and she looked on the verge of one of those panic attacks she used to have as Conrad met her in the College.

 

And finally, the last painting, showing what was clearly a set of torturer's tools gleaming in the painting's light.

 

Conrad saw red. 

 

Only when he felt his shackles restraining him he noticed that he had lunged for the woman, hands aimed at her neck.

 

And now there was a blade pointed at the Nord's throat, heart, lung and liver, one for each of the masked guards present in the room. 

 

Scars and Purple hadn't even moved, not even flinched.

 

_ "Well... that's different. I'm pretty sure the Yondaime didn't have anything like that," _ Scars commented. 

 

" _ Could it be that this guy has...?"  _ the woman said hurriedly, pointing a finger at his face, a frown on hers. What was her problem?

 

Oh right. 

 

Anger, lack of control, slitted pupils. Same old, same old. 

 

Damn, he needed a drink. It had been way too long.

 

_ "No, there are no seals of any kind on his body. It may be a weird bloodline, though," _ the scarred man mumbled, looking at him pensively. 

 

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here, you filthy—" Conrad yelled at them, only to stop the long and creative chain of insults he was on the point of shout as he felt one of the blades prickle against his skin, having been pressed against it a little more firmly.

 

Biting his tongue, Conrad moved his gaze from the smirking woman to the paintings of his foolish students.

 

Even if he tried to use magic or the dragon shouts, he would get skewered like a pig. That’d be no help to himself or his younger companions. Or his own well being.

 

Slowly, very slowly, he moved back to his seat, the guards’ weapons following his movements and yet not wavering from his vital spots. These guys were good.

 

He really hated them. Damn their skill and unnatural speed.

 

Finally sitting down, he allowed himself to growl a little while giving a bad eye at the two people on the other side of the table.

 

They didn't seem to care. Bastards.

 

The guards didn't remove their weapons for a few seconds, just to be sure that he had calmed down. Apparently they were satisfied by seeing him boiling in rage inwardly though because they finally went back to their places around the room without saying a word.

 

Conrad really, really hated feeling so powerless. 

 

_ “Very well, now that you know how things are _ — _ ” _ Purple chirped, reaching for the insides of her own coat. 

 

Conrad clenched his fists, expecting another bad surprise.

 

Which turned out to be another stack of sheets, this time white as snow and around the size of a book. And a short, sharpened stick.

 

Conrad was at a loss of words. What was that all about?

 

His confusion was probably showing because the woman smirked a little before moving the stick on the paper, which produced some scratching noises. 

 

The stick had a black point, and to the mage's amazement, a thin black line appeared where the stick passed. It didn't seem to be ink, maybe it was charcoal? No, the line was too clean and neat. 

 

An instrument able to write so quickly and without having to stop to refill the ink like a quill... what would have he done to examine such a thing in a less hostile environment.

 

Purple finished her work and showed him the page with a grin. 

 

Conrad was wrong,  _ now  _ he was at a loss of words. He wasn't even sure what he was looking at.

 

Seven runes of unknown meaning were present on the white surface, forming a column of single... letters? He couldn't make head or tails of them. It was then that he realized a terrible truth. 

 

In this continent, he was technically an illiterate. For some reason, the notion of not being able to read was way scarier than that time he had dined with Sheogorath.

 

_ "Mitarashi Anko," _ the woman said, pointing at the symbols and then at herself, still grinning. The Nord, still a bit shocked by the concept he had just grasped on could only stare in confusion, not understanding what was the point of this.

 

After a few seconds the woman tried again, pointing at herself and at the runes, spelling the sound of each of them. Either she was asking for something or she was introducing herself. 

 

But why would an interrogator introduce herself, especially if they had immediately resorted to threats instead of playing good guard and bad guard? 

 

Frustrated by his lack of response, the woman just went back to writing on the white sheet for a few minutes. Her companion just remained silent for the whole time.

 

_ "Mitarashi Anko," _ she repeated slowly, like she was speaking to a particularly dumb child. That was not shocking to Conrad.

 

There was a humanoid figure scribbled besides the column of runes, but... it was incredibly wrong. 

 

The head was oversized, as big as the rest of the figure's body. The eyes were bigger than they should've been, there was no visible nose and no lips around the grinning mouth. The limbs instead were small, and pathetically puny to look at.

 

Was this woman just bad at drawing or was it a peculiar style used in Akavir in these days?

 

It vaguely resembled her though, so at least he knew that she WAS trying to introduce herself.

 

"Anko?" he tried, pointing towards the woman. 

 

_ "Yes, yes. Right. Whatever, let's just get going with this farce," _ said Anko muttered, while nodding.  _ "Ibiki," _ she said pointed a thumb towards her silent partner, who gave a barely perceptible nod. After this she scribbled a few more runes, always on a column. 

 

Conrad was ready to bet one thousand septims that it probably was the man's name.

 

It didn't take a genius to figure out what was supposed to happen now.

 

"Con—" he started, before remembering something. Hadn't Minato said how in these lands, they said the surname before the name? Yes, something like that. 

 

Still sounded weird to him though.

 

"Harissen, Conrad," he said, pointing towards himself with his restrained hands.

 

She repeated his name as she wrote it, butchering the pronunciation spectacularly.

 

It was a start, at least.

 

* * *

 

_ They were marching. _

 

_ By hundreds, they were marching through the unfamiliar landscape, because their Kage had ordered so. _

 

_ Among them there were veterans and rising stars among their village's ranks alike.  _

 

_ To ensure their village's victory, they would destroy their enemies without regret.  _

 

_ Then the screams started.  _

 

_ A flare of yellow, and a dozen comrades would die in the blink of an eye, mowed down like so many blades of grass. _

 

_ Bodies were torn apart, gushing blood like discarded petals as blue spinning orbs mangled through flesh, muscle and bone alike. _

 

_ Friends, allies and rivals were dying without even being able to defend themselves, attacked from an enemy that seemed to arrive from every direction at once. _

 

_ Then those blue eyes locked onto her— _

 

Ishina suddenly woke up, her hand tightened around one of her kunai. 

 

Above her, she could see the canopy of the stars, and slowly looking around herself she recognized the spot where she and her team had made camp for the night.

 

The kunoichi let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

 

Just a dream. 

 

A dream of a distant memory.

 

The woman was aware that she wouldn't have been able to go back to sleep though, so she rose from her bed roll. 

 

Her teammates, her 'genin', were all asleep besides the sentry standing on watch at a moderate distance. 

 

They were not really genin though, but they were all young enough to pass for them. They had been selected taking in consideration their age, their skill and more importantly the fact that none of them were in any Bingo book Iwa knew of. 

 

Which of course had led to—

 

"Gareki-sempai?" a girl's voice asked from the edge of the camp. "Is something troubling you?"

 

"I'm fine, Kurotsuchi. Go to sleep, I'll take over your shift," Ishina said, getting closer to the younger kunoichi. "That's an order," she added, seeing the girl's hesitation. 

 

Kurotsuchi merely nodded before moving back to the camp and rejoining her teammates, while Ishina had taken her place, she couldn't help but wonder about her charges. 

 

Powerful, well-trained enough to have a chance in this mission, and yet young enough to pass as a genin and not famous enough in the shinobi world to be recognized at a first glance.

 

That had been the criteria for choosing the fake genin. Which the Tsuchikage's niece satisfied completely. 

 

The fact that it added more weight on Ishina's shoulders was left unsaid.

 

She had no intention to fail, though.

 

In only two more days they would reach Konoha and then the mission would start for real. She would protect her charges.

 

And find the truth.

 

She just hoped to have at least a chance to get a shot at that cursed blond, if he was still alive. 

 

* * *

 

Conrad sneezed. 

 

It had been happening a lot, lately. 

 

Just one more reason to hate this place. The food had helped in that as well, but he supposed that no matter how foreign, prison food was still bad everywhere.

 

He was still not sure why the guards visibly flinched when he pierced his food with those stick he was given instead of a fork or spoon, though.

 

_ "Either someone is thinking about you, or you're catching a cold,"  _ Anko said jokingly. Since he didn't understand anything of it, whatever she found funny was lost on him.

 

The last day—judging by the number of meals brought to him, since there were no windows that he could use to judge the passage of time—had been very boring and yet stressful. 

 

Most of the time had been invested into working with his interrogators to create a way to communicate, although it was not very complex and most of what was "said" had to be guessed with charades or visual aids. 

 

And still he hadn't been able to find out more about this place or the magelings, besides the fact that they were the only reason he was collaborating with his captors. 

 

He had only been “told” that they were imprisoned in the same place. If the woman's weird drawings could be trusted, of course.

 

Because judging by them, his students were either in various cells or inside some boxes with a lock.

 

This day had been the first of real questioning. For his part, Conrad had tried to answer all at the best of his abilities, if it was possible. Even if drawing with both hands chained was not exactly easy, he was sure that what he had showed them was enough to understand.

 

So far he had shown them a rough map of Tamriel and explained that he was a Nord, using the most typical Nord imagery he could think of. Who said that stereotypes were not useful?

 

His interrogators seemed confused by this though. Neither the map or the other drawings seemed to mean much to them, actually.

 

Could it be that they didn’t know of the Tamrielic people at all? A lot could’ve changed from the times of their attacks against it.

 

Tamriel  _ knew  _ of Akavir, why shouldn't it be the same for the Akaviri?   
  
True, the details their invasions on Tamriel’s soil were not common knowledge among the general populace, and the few known facts about the continent had so far—in Conrad’s personal experience—revealed themselves to be very probably a giant pile of intellectual garbage.

 

Before he could try to imagine a possible explanation though, Ibiki placed one of the paintings he had been shown the first time. The one with the light that was moving through the sky. 

 

Conrad sighed. It seemed to be really important to them, for some reason that he couldn’t fathom. 

 

Explaining it to them would’ve been tricky though.

 

Picking up the writing tool that he had no idea how to name yet—albeit he was partial for brush-stick—he started to draw doodles trying to imitate the local artistic style. 

 

He sketched a miniature version of himself no bigger than his thumb, being sure to make it clear that he was casting a spell. 

 

Classic mage doing his thing pose, with staff in his other hand. Then he added a ball of light similar to the one made by the spell. Even a child would understand that.  

 

Under it, he made another sketch, this time him following the light, followed by quickly-drawn representations of his students. 

 

Seemed pretty simple to him.

 

The expressions on Anko and Ibiki's faces as they looked at each other were not encouraging though. 

 

_ "At least we know that the cat-boy is real," _ the scarred man muttered. _ "Doesn't really help, though." _

 

_ "Can't we just give this guy to Inoichi and get over with it?"  _

 

_ "If mind probing was that reliable, the whole Yamanaka clan would never get out of T&I,"  _ Ibiki said, almost shoving a new painting on Conrad's face.  _ “Tell us about this.” _

 

It was the strange knife he had been guided to by one of the straying clairvoyance spell.

 

Because Minato's runes were inscribed on its handle. It seemed to be important for these people. 

 

Deadly important, if they were threatening to torture kids because of it. 

 

And not knowing if these people had some grudge against his brother, trying to protect the magelings was a gamble at best.

 

If he managed to survive this, he would add it to the list of reasons to punch Minato for.

 

To explain why he had that knife though, he would have to start from the beginning. 

 

Better avoid the part with the almost-death experience in the Soul Cairn though. One thing was answering questions, but just attempting to explain that would just create a lot more. 

 

So he decided to start with his meeting with Minato, by drawing a miniature copy of himself standing besides a miniature copy of himself without a beard. And a cape with flames at the end of it. Or was it a coat? 

 

Whatever. 

 

This seemed to confuse the two interrogators, but he didn't pay them any mind as he kept going with his "explanation", starting to draw another set of figures. 

 

Not being sure how to explain that Minato had messed with his head using this method, Conrad opted to draw Minato in a similar pose to the one he had used for his spell, and some lines to represent the spell around his own head. It wasn't the Alduin's Wall but it would do.

 

Finally, besides the four figures, he sketched the runes that Minato had planted inside his brain and for which he wasted months at the College of—

 

_ “IT’S A SEAL!” _ Anko yelled in an alarmed tone. What was her—

 

Something hit him. Even if it hadn't hurt more than a bee's sting, he could feel something going through his neck, as a numbing sensation spread through his body incredibly quickly. A poison? Were they killing him after obtaining what they wanted?

 

He felt his eyes becoming heavy, but as his head started spinning his gaze fell on the woman’s spreaded arm.

  
Conrad tried to rise his arms to fry the purple-haired harlot but it was a losing battle against whatever poison he had been hit with. 

 

“Bitch,” he gurgled lamely before losing consciousness, certain that he had failed his students. 

 

* * *

 

After several minutes of pondering, Sarutobi decided that he needed an aspirin.

 

Also, he had decided to look for a worthy successor once the exams were over. He was really getting too old for this.

 

"So, there are no surgical scars or anything that would suggest that the prisoner's features have been altered to resemble the Yondaime's?" he asked, hiding at the best of his abilities the tiredness from his voice.

 

"No, sir,” the reporting chunin replied, skimming through the report from the labs. “Nothing at all... although we found plenty of scars on the rest of the body. None of them match any of the wounds received in action listed on Namikaze-sama's files."

 

"What about the DNA tests?” Sarutobi wondered. “Any news on that front?"

 

"The lab is asking time for more time, actually,” the shinobi explained timidly.  “They would like to run more tests to assure that the results they had so far are not a fluke."

 

"What are the results for that?" the Hokage asked, already dreading the answer. 

 

"... positive, sir," the chunin replied, his voice no louder than a whisper. 

 

For a whole minute there was absolute silence inside the office. The chunin didn’t want to dare to speak, and Sarutobi was too busy hearing the last, small piece of logic in the whole mess that this investigation had become shatter in tiny fragments.

  
Yes, he  _ definitely  _ needed to find a candidate to substitute him. 

 

"Tell them to check for dental records and fingerprints as well,” he sighed heavily, not bothering to hide how badly the news had been for him. “Better be sure. Is there anything else?" 

 

"Just a note about how those vials that the prisoners were transporting left the eggheads baffled, sir. But they're still analyzing those and—"

 

"I see, keep me posted. You may go," the Hokage interrupted, quickly dismissing his subordinate who was very happy to leave the report on the desk and leave the office.

 

Once he was alone, Sarutobi allowed himself to pinch his nose in consternation. It had been a very, very stressful day. 

 

Just before hearing this report he had received an official letter from Oonoki of Both Scales, the Sandaime Tsuchikage, concerning Iwa's last-minute attendance to the Chunin Exams, even if with just a single team. Literally, since if his patrols were to be believed, said team would arrive barely on time to register.

 

Being an international event created to show the villages' abilities to their most important customers—and secretly to substitute war among Hidden Villages—he really had no valid reason to deny them, unless he hoped to strain the already tense relation between Konoha and Iwa. 

 

The fact that Oonoki would send a team to such an event held in a rival village after the capture of their latest "guests" was no coincidence, even if there was no evidence about it. Oonoki was not being subtle, though.

 

Thank goodness, there were no teams from Kumo. The last things he needed was  _ more  _ tension at the exams, especially since it would've been a personal matter for the Hyuuga clan. 

 

His mind quickly came back to the issue of the prisoners, though. 

 

He had hoped that by trying to establish a communication with the strangers, maybe even teaching them their language over time, he could get answers.

 

Instead, things looked ever more grim than before, with more unanswered questions. The oldest prisoner not only looked like Minato and was able to track down the Yondaime's seals, he knew how they were created as well. 

 

Too well.

 

Granted, Anko may had overdone it since what the man had done was just a simple schematic on a paper sheet but not knowing what the seal was, she had acted for the best.

 

Sarutobi looked at the sketch on his desk once again. It was crude, quickly done and not-functioning for obvious reasons, but the basics were there. There was no denying it.

 

The stranger, this... Conrad... knew the Hiraishin no Jutsu.

 

Why had he not escaped already, he had no idea considering that he may have used the array of seals created by Minato, which ironically had been fully mapped only thanks to that tracking jutsu being used for weeks.

 

And now he was being told that the man had a DNA that was similar enough to Minato’s to cause panic in Konoha’s labs. 

 

Who was this man? He would’ve liked to believe that a long-lost relative of Minato’s had just stumbled upon their village, but that option was not very feasible considering the knowledge about the jutsu that had granted to Minato the title of “Yellow Flash”.

 

This required using tougher methods, hoping to get answers quickly. If it turned out that Harissen Conrad knew about the Rasengan, he would not be very surprised.

 

There was another, more important question though. 

 

Was the man aware of Naruto as well?

 

* * *

 

"YOU'RE LATE!" two voices yelled as one.

 

"I was lost on the road of life," a jonin explained lamely.

 

"LIAR!" was the prompt answer. It was incredible how synched those two could get when they were mad at their sensei.

 

"This may be a bit sudden but I've nominated you guys for the chunin exams," Kakashi said matter-of-factly, ignoring his students' outrage. 

 

"What did you say—"

 

"Here's your applications," he said, interrupting his genin by handing them the papers.

 

"KAKASHI-SENSEI I LOVE YOU!" Naruto squealed in delight, hugging the man with all of his strength. 

 

"Those are just a nomination though," he said once he managed to free himself, "It's up to you if you want to take the exam or not."

 

Kakashi stopped for a moment to make that sink in. His students were all reading the documents, but Naruto looked like this was the best day of his life. 

 

Having done one small step closer to his dream, it was a given. 

 

"Those who wish to take the exam should sign those papers and turn them in tomorrow, at the room three-hundred and one, that’s all," he quickly finished, before jumping away with a quick goodbye to his genin. 

 

From here on, it was on their hands. 

 

Maybe he could try to pester Tenzo about the prisoners, after all. 

 

Just a little bit.

 

* * *

 

Conrad woke up sneezing. 

 

While he felt like shit, he was really surprised to actually be alive.

 

The room he had come back to his senses was shrouded in complete darkness, and from the looks of it he was strapped to some chair. Ropes or belts, in addition to those magicka-sucking manacles that he had sported lately. Which were still itching a lot.

 

All his muscles ached, and his limbs felt like they were made of stone. He couldn't even move his neck properly.

 

If it hadn't been for his bindings he may have fell from his seat, but he doubted that that was the reason for their presence. 

 

His throat hurt like a bitch, which was kinda fitting considering how he had been injured there. No Thu'um, he would bet on that. 

 

Purple-haired little shit. If she or one of her companions had touched one of the magelings' hair, he would raze the whole place on the ground. Not even a building would be spared.

 

Considering that wasn't even able to lift a hand though, it may be more problematic than expected though. 

 

To complete the picture of how helpless he was, much to his dismay, he was feeling like he was building a fever as well.

 

Maybe it was a side-effect of whatever narcotic the woman had used on him. Difficult to say.

 

What had gone wrong though? That reaction seemed a bit of an overkill. What did those runes mean—

 

He sneezed again, louder than before.

 

Maybe it wasn't an effect of a lingering substance, thinking about it—

 

There was a sound like snapping fingers, and a bright light exploded above his head, blinding him temporarily. 

 

He heard a door being opened and hastily closed again. Someone had entered the room.

 

Conrad forced his eyes opened, and remained baffled by what he saw.

 

Standing in front of him, wearing one of those snail-marked headbands, was another Nord. 

 

Or at least a man that could've passed for one. 

 

Was he a castaway that had gone native? The descendant of some legionary that had been left behind after the ill-fated "invasion" attempted by the Empire? Or even better, from nordic prisoners taken during one of the Akaviri invasions?

 

Conrad would've liked to ask if he would've been able to talk. And speak the local tongue. 

 

One more thing to write in the punch-Minato-in-the-face list, he supposed.

 

As soon as their eyes met, the long-haired Nord started to do some gestures with his hands.

 

Conrad was knocked unconscious once more, this time without much of a resistance from his part.

 

* * *

 

Inoichi was surrounded by snow and howling winds. 

 

Unusual, but this was not the weirdest thing that had happened in his career of mind-walker. 

 

Each mind was different after all, shaped by the experiences and the personality of its owner. Entering inside one to examine the memories that formed it was not like assuming the control of an enemy during a battle, something for which his clan was renown to. 

 

It was a gradual, and potentially dangerous process. For both the person entering the mind and the one subject it. Especially the latter. If too pressure was put on the mind, consequences could be expected. 

 

The Yamanaka examined his surroundings. He was not inside the mind yet, merely on its outskirts, represented here by a barren land covered by snow, a never-ending blizzard.

 

In the distance, though, there was a light, red and warm, barely noticeable because of the storm. His senses though were showing it clearly to him: that was were his entrance was. 

 

He started walking towards the light, not being in a rush and ignoring the snowflakes hitting him. Cold had never bothered him anyway, and besides that, it was not real.

 

As he got closer, the wind seemed to calm down slightly,and the light revealed itself to be an old-styled torch attached besides the entrance of a cave that seemed to sprout out of nowhere, little more than a gap in the the ground. 

 

It seemed that his way inside the man that looked like a badly aged Minato was a literal one.

 

Inoichi hesitated for a moment, then he grabbed the torch before starting his descent into the steep and dark hole.

 

The cave was very narrow, its cold and rocky walls forming a passage that kept descending down, almost like a drill, going deeper into the mind’s bowels. Which was not surprising since it was just a projection of the entrance created by his jutsu. 

 

When he arrived at the end of the slope though, he stopped, taken back by what had been waiting for him. 

 

The slide gave space to a small room, clearly not natural in the making. A massive door, made of rock and covered with elaborated decorations and flanked by two lit braziers was blocking his way.

 

Three rings, one inside the other, were clearly visible on the door and each of them were sporting a different symbol.

 

No visible lock, or hinges. 

 

Inoichi was not surprised to find some form of defense, it wasn’t unknown to find obstacles created by either training or previous tampering—especially in victims of brainwashing. 

 

Finding something able to actually block his passage  _ just _ as he had started to enter properly in the man’s head? That was something else. 

 

Mental training to counter interrogations? Defenses created with the use of fuuinjutsu? A particularly disciplined mind? Anko and Ibiki’s report mentioned a possible unknown doujutsu as well, could this be related? Those were all possible causes.

 

He was not the leader of the Yamanaka clan for nothing, though. No imaginary door would stop him.

 

* * *

 

From behind the one-way mirror, Sarutobi was intently observing the ongoing interrogation.

 

Not that there was much to actually observe, since the prisoner was unconscious and Inoichi was in a status of trance, wandering the other man’s mind. Still he wanted to present, even if concealed behind a thin panel of glass, and hear the Yamanaka’s report as soon as the mind probing was over. 

 

The door behind him opened, and he could hear the steps as  a man walking with the help of a cane.

 

“Is it true?” the newcomer asked, stopping besides him, focused on the scene behind the mirror as well.

 

“I’m not even going to ask how you already found out, Danzo,” the Hokage said without sparing a glance to his old comrade.

 

"To think that the Yondaime was a foreigner... how could you choose him as your successor while being aware of this is beyond me."

 

"Foreigner? Minato knew nothing of his origins, just like us. He grew up here, he lived here and fought for the village and to defend its inhabitants. Minato always considered Konoha his home. How does that make him a foreigner?" Sarutobi asked with a small smile, knowing that his old friend couldn't object to that. 

 

"I'll concede that, but he's been dead for years. What about  _ him _ , instead. He is not someone that has lived in Konoha, and from what I've heard..." Danzo said, letting his words linger in the small room.

 

"He may not even have lived in the Elemental Nations either," Hiruzen finished for him.

 

"Yes, I've seen those... maps he drew," the old war hawk mused, drumming his fingers on his cane's handle. "It could be an elaborate ploy. It probably is."

 

"Don't you think that I suspect as much?" Sarutobi asked, turning slightly towards the other old shinobi.

 

"Good, that means that you're not senile yet,” the bandaged man scoffed. “What do you plan to do, then?"

 

"I will wait Inoichi's response. Then... I will act  _ accordingly _ ," Sarutobi told him, looking right in his remaining eye.

 

Danzo nodded, accepting the Hokage’s decision.   
  
Nothing else was said for the rest of the interrogation.

 

* * *

 

He was lost.

 

Not in a literal sense, he knew the way back thanks to the mental link between his projection and his body. If he wanted, he could've just turned right around and back out the way he came to leave.

 

Inoichi had never seen a mind like this before, though. 

 

It appeared to him as a labyrinthine series of narrow corridors, vast rooms filled with rock thrones and coffins, murals covered in strange glyphs, false ends and stairs that seemed to invite him to go forward, without actually getting closer to his goal.

 

Could it be that it was because of the different language the stranger spoke? A representation of how different his thoughts may sound to the mind-walker? Or was it something more?

 

Some parts had been illuminated by torches like the one he was holding or other light sources. Other had been pitch-dark and without its own light, proceeding would've been difficult, to say the least. 

 

Then there were the traps. 

 

_ "Traitor!" _ a ghostly voice yelled as the shinobi dived out of a swinging blade's way. Even if he couldn't understand what it meant, he could feel the rage put in the word. 

 

Corridors full of pendulum-like blades, holes that shot barrages of small darts to their target, pressure plates that caused streams of fire to be hurled at him and any sort of contraption that in the real world would've been aimed to maim, cripple or outright kill him. 

 

_ "Cheer up a little, Conrad. You're a freaking hero now!" _ another voice said as Inoichi dodged another attack, this one in an almost jovial tone, which was weird since the mind walker had a clear idea about what these things represented inside this mind.

 

They were memories. Unpleasant ones if he had to take a guess from their appearances.

 

While he had been tempted to examine them as he proceeded deeper in the mind, he quickly dismissed it after realizing how scattered they were, with no continuation whatsoever.

 

Memories were normally represented in clusters or grouped by some kind of internal logic, and for good reason. A memory was connected to another, in a long chain of events, emotions and perceptions. 

 

Isolated memories were either forgotten or uncomfortable one. Or even things that a person was forcing himself to forget or not think about.

 

Being on a timetable, Inoichi couldn't afford to examine all of these. Once his chakra reserves were depleted, he would be forced to leave, so he wanted to find and examine the majority of the stranger's memories instead. 

 

He could've checked those in another session, the man had a lot of—

 

Something twinkled in the dark, catching the light of his torch. And for once it wasn't a spiked ball on a chain or a serrated disk trying to cut his head off.

 

Getting closer, he saw that the shining object was a coin laying on the stony floor, like if someone had lost it. Inoichi knelt and picked it up, examining it. It was a perfect round coin, with no holes in the middle, that looked like it was made of gold. There was a man’s face on one side and a winged figure on the other, along with some writings Inoichi couldn’t read. 

 

Briefly wondering why it assumed the aspect of a coin, he concentrated on the memory, using his clan’s techniques to see it as it was his own.

 

Inoichi found himself staring at a giant of a man, who was looking at him with his arms folded and an annoyed expression emphatized by the giant’s blue eyes. He arrived barely at the man’s gut, and suddenly felt small and vulnerable, but he knew that those were not his own emotions, merely the ones in the memory. There was also a strong sense of… shame?

 

_ “I don’t want to hurt someone, Father,” _ Inoichi said, albeit the language was not his own and he couldn’t understand what he had said. The voice, a child’s voice—a childhood memory, then!—sounded incredibly apologetic.   
  
The giant, that was actually a very large adult, kept staring right at him before sighing. Was this man the prisoner’s father? They had the same eyes, and there were some other resemblances as well.

 

_ “Conrad,”  _ the supposed father said, slowly.  _ “We live in a dangerous land, and in dangerous times to boot. One day I may not be around, and you may have to defend yourself.” _

 

The Yamanaka dismissed the vision, and in the blink of an eye he was back in the maze, the coin still in his hand. He needed more recent memories, but was this just another scattered memory or—

 

Something else twinkling down the hallway caught his attention.

 

Letting go of the coin in his hand, Inoichi went to inspect the new finding, and wasn't disappointed when it revealed itself to be another memoir. One of the coinage kind.

 

And beyond that, just a few feet away, there was another one. And another one.

 

Inoichi smiled. He had finally found a trail.It was just a matter of following it.

 

It wasn't a difficult task, since as he kept pursuing his target, he seemed to just stumble upon more of them.

 

Some groups had started to show up, indicating the presence of more complex memories.

 

Inoichi was advancing along the corridors like a hound, and the core of the prisoner's mind was his prey.

 

The coins began appearing more and more frequently, indicating that he was getting closer to his goal. 

 

He turned through an open doorway, and froze.

 

In front of the mind-walker, a vast chamber extended as long as his eye could see. A forest of stone pillars grew from the ground, to disappear in the darkness of the ceiling. 

 

Piles of money, despite filling the room, formed mounds that reminded the Yamanaka of the dunes in the harshest regions of the Wind Country desert. 

 

Inoichi felt no shame in admitting that his jaw had dropped a little at the sight of such riches, even if he knew well that they were not real.

 

He shouldn't have been surprised by the contents of the mind's core, seeing how the memories had started to appear as coins, but he certainly wasn't expecting to find them in this amount.

 

The shinobi started to walk among the sea of memories, which glittered at the light of his torch. With each step, a metallic echo was created as the coins shuffled slightly under his feet. 

 

There was not just cash and gold though. He started to notice weapons, shields, helmets placed among the riches, along with other seemingly random items, like bottles or piles of books. 

 

What really impressed him, though, were the bones. 

 

Popping out from the expense of coins there were large skeletal carcasses of some large animal. The closest to him was a skull, big almost as a wagon. It was long, with two large horns starting at his back and a mouth filled with teeth that looked like they could've been used as knives. 

 

He surely wouldn't have liked to see how the beast looked when it was alive, if it was real of course.

 

Something about these bones didn't convince him, though. They didn't seem to fit in his mind, with its treasure theme.

 

The coins? One could argue that every precious memory should be treasured. The weapons and other equipment he had seen? They still fit, and could've been violent memories, probably fights. Even the books could fit, because every knowledge was precious, shinobi knew that very well.

 

However, these bones were completely alien in this mindscape. 

 

Having finally accessed the mind's core, he knew it was time to start to investigate. And the  large skull seemed the right place to start with.

 

Inoichi placed his hand on the skull's snout and reached for it, calling on its true nature. 

 

The change was sudden.    
  
He was not in the vast chamber anymore, instead he was soaring through the sky. He could feel the cold air, the wind around his body and he could feel how glorious it was to…  _ to be alive again _ .

 

Before Inoichi could even start to ponder about the sensation, his view made a sudden turn downwards as the memory kept going. There was a large and lush valley under him, and much to Inoichi surprise, he could discern incredibly small details, like the single leaves on the trees, even if he was hundreds of meters above the ground. 

 

Maybe this was the suspected doujutsu? It was like looking through the eyes of a bird of prey.

 

There was a sound like of leather whipped taut, and the owner of the memory turned like a bird in the sky. A new part of the valley was revealed to him, with a small village at the center.

 

Which was mostly on fire, the flames and the smoke clearly visible. 

 

The owner of the memory was proud of this. The people that inhabited it were fleeing in every direction, and this pleased him. He was strong, and he knew it. It was his right to exercise his might upon those inferior to him, kill them and—

 

The mind walker quickly dampened the link by using the control the jutsu granted on this mind, trying to not dwell too much in those sensations. The emotions in this memory were much stronger than the ones he had experienced in this or other minds. He had really risked to go too deep there— 

 

Pain, followed by a roar and fit of anger, strong enough to be felt  even after the cautionary measure he had just taken.

 

The memory kept going, and he realized that its owner was being attacked by someone using a barrage of long-range fire and lightning jutsu. 

 

Through his eyes, he saw that not all the inhabitants were fleeing. A solitary figure was standing in the small village’s square, fire dancing in one hand and a weapon ready in the other.

 

The man raised the latter, pointing it towards his flying opponent as if to challenge him, and thanks to the eagle-like vision Inoichi saw that the man on the ground was the prisoner he had seen in the cell! Just younger! Who the hell was this memory of—

 

Foolish **Dovahkiin** , he scoffed, changing direction with a flap of his wings— _wings_?! Even if he was **Sahlo** than **Alduin** , he was way **Zol mul** than the lesser **Dov**. He would **Krii** him with **Yol** and then he would **Naak Du Kopraani** —

 

Inoichi panicked, feeling that the memory was overwhelming him. Cutting off his connection to the scene, he found himself back in the treasure room, staring at the massive skull that seemed to mock him with its hollow eyes. 

 

He had no idea how that was possible, but he knew one thing. What he had seen was not a memory of the prisoner, but a planted one. 

 

That alone would've been enough to worry him since it was a clear evidence that the mind had been tampered with. The nature of the memory though—

 

A sound behind him distracted the Yamanaka from that line of thought. A tinkling of metal shifting over metal, growing into a crescendo of clinking.

 

Instincts kicking in, he quickly turned, wary of any possible traps or mental defenses he may have activated. In the distance he saw a new dune growing from the sea of gold, coins tumbling down like snow in an avalanche, taking everything in their path down with them. 

 

Something emerged from the top, like a shark's fin in open waters, and an identical one joined it, very close to the first one.

 

It wasn’t a pair of fins though, but two horns, each as long as a short spear. 

 

The Yamanaka leaped away, searching for cover behind one of the columns to hide himself from this unknown threat. The treasure showering down from the new dune had begun to slow, as a body covered in gleaming golden scales started to reveal itself. 

 

A head rose up, massive and reptilian, and large leathery projections hurled coins in every direction as they freed themselves from the mass of treasure. Slowly Inoichi could make out a shape, though what he could see defied all logic.

 

When the tail appeared as well, there was no denying it. 

 

He was looking at a creature of legend, a creature that existed only in myths and stories used to entertain children before they went to sleep. 

 

He was looking at a dragon.

 

For a second he thought if this could be some kind of last line of defense against a mental intrusion, but he quickly discarded the hypothesis. If that had been the case, it would’ve manifested itself as something artificial, like a barrier or the traps he had met or something else that could be explained as the fruit of some training or accurate preparation.

 

This was something that had the aspect of a flesh and bone being, besides its peculiar nature. And it had emerged from the prisoner’s memories, which meant that this could probably the man’s  _ subconscious _ .

 

And it was turning its head toward his hiding place. 

 

Two massive blue eyes with slitted pupils locked on him, and the thing spoke with a loud, cavernous voice.

 

**“Koraav Hi, Mal Bron!”**

 


	9. Of Dragons, Meetings and Reunions

 

In his career as a shinobi, both on the field and in the dungeons of the T&I department, Inoichi had explored a myriad of minds.

 

Each time, it had been a different experience. There were of course patterns, minds that "felt" similar because their owners reasoned similarly or were trained in the same way. 

 

There were, of course, dangerous minds. Dark, twisted places that tried to suck every mind-walker that probed them into their spires. Lunatics, psychopaths, deranged individuals, fanatics and worse. As a mind-walker explored their memories, he would feel the world as they saw it and it wasn’t a pleasant or safe task. Not all of the ones whom Inoichi had to delve into had been shinobi, either. 

 

He had never seen anything like the beast that was looking at him, its eyes like cold, blue flame. Inoichi found himself unconsciously pressing even more against the stony column. If he had to hazard a guess, he would’ve said that the creature was a manifestation of the mind’s subconscious, but he had no idea why it would look like a golden dragon. It made him wonder what this said about the prisoner’s nature, though.

 

Slowly, the dragon started to move, its great form scattering the treasures it passed on. It was circling around the column and Inoichi found himself doing the same to keep something between him and the beast, all the while starting to feel like a small bird being stalked by a large and hungry cat.

 

**“Fos los dreh het, Zu'u tovok?”** the dragon asked calmly without stopping. While the word’s meaning was obviously lost to the shinobi, he didn’t need to be an expert in linguistics to understand that it wasn’t the same language the prisoner spoke. It was just too different. If this was the prisoner’s subconscious though, it should’ve spoken in his first language since the majority of minds reasoned in the language they were most accustomed to. 

 

Unless this  _ was _ the prisoner’s first language, but there was something behind those words that seemed to emanate  _ power _ , far beyond the reach of normal men. Inoichi knew that it didn’t make any sense. Words were words, but he couldn’t shake the feeling from his own mind. 

 

His thoughts ground to a halt though, as he slammed against a golden scaled wall blocking his path. A quick glance behind him revealed that, much to his horror, the dragon had blocked his path around the column using one of its wings. Turning back, he saw the large monstrous head emerging from behind a pillar, along with most of the neck, nearly upon him.

 

**“Oo, wo ulaak naanven,”** the dragon said in what resembled a bored tone, just before opening its jaws and taking a deep breath. Inoichi’s instincts kicked in and before he knew it, he was sprinting vertically on the column as an inferno of flames exploded at its base. 

 

Inoichi didn't want to know if those flames would burned like real ones. He kept jumping from one column to another, not all that different from how he would’ve moved in the forests surrounding the village, knowing that he had to get out of there, out of the man's mind.

 

The sound of big, leathery wings closing on him made him realize that the dragon had other plans, and was chasing him. Inoichi dove to the ground just in time to avoid the beast’s maw closing on him with a snap. 

 

The mind-walker didn’t waste time and immediately sprinted towards the passage he had come through, his only way to escape. A crashing sound accompanied by a blastwave of treasures flying around told him that the dragon had landed where he had been a moment before. 

 

The Yamanaka heard the dragon take a deep breath again, and he not-so-elegantly scrambled behind the closest pillar, just in time to find cover. The column divided the spraying fire evenly, like water flowing around a rock. The small place not engulfed by the flames was enough for Inoichi’s needs. The raging heat didn’t matter, only not being physically touched by its source. The lack of oxygen left by the fire didn’t matter either, as he kept reminding himself that he was not really breathing air.

 

As soon as it had started, it suddenly ended, leaving only smoke and heated stone. Inoichi didn’t hesitate to dash towards the exit as fast as he could—only for the dragon's tail to collide with him, throwing him back. He rolled on the ground, grunting in pain as he hit the coin-shaped memories.

 

**“Pah vodahmaan do slov,”** the dragon chuckled. Inoichi staggered, trying to get back on his feet but failing to do so due to the blow received. No matter how much he tried to fight it, his own mental projection was acting like a real body would because of the pain he was feeling. The winged reptilian just walked around him, deliberately slow as if to to mock him, to finally stop between the mind-walker and the passage that would’ve led him to the exit.

 

Instead of attacking him, though, the dragon just cocked its head, as if wondering what the man would try now. 

 

"Cocky lizard," he muttered, trying to support himself with a hand against the gold-covered ground. His fingers brushed cold metal and he grimaced at the sudden influx of emotion from them. He didn't have time to get distracted—

 

Widening his eyes, Inoichi grabbed the closest coin he could reach and forcibly pushed his chakra through it. Scenes he had never lived flashed in front of his eyes— _ fire, laugher, sweet drinks _ . The dragon recoiled its head back as though it had been struck, confusion clear in its eyes.

 

Seeing it was working, Inoichi slammed his palm on the surface of memories flooding the gold around him. Instantly, he and the dragon were assaulted by a multitude of emotions and images from the prisoner’s past, to which the beast reacted as though he were having a mild seizure, thrashing around and breathing fire. 

 

Inoichi ignored the sensory onslaught and managed to scramble to his feet and to find cover behind a pile of treasures before being stomped or burned to a crisp.

 

As the dragon’s blind assault stopped, it roared something, but he didn’t bother to listen to those incomprehensible words. Instead he found himself unable to hold back a grin. The mind-walker had not been sure if the trick would’ve worked, but apparently his first impression was right: the dragon  _ was _ the prisoner’s subconscious, otherwise it wouldn’t have reacted that way at the stimulation of the memories. 

 

If that was the reaction to the use of surface memories, how strong would it have been if he had used one of those hidden in the deepest parts of this mind? He had seen all those half-forgotten memories that had appeared to him as traps, but the human mind is unable to fully suppress most experiences... he just had to dig deep enough to find one with strong enough emotions.

 

There was the matter of finding a suitable memory without being burned or eaten, of course.

 

Which made Inoichi wonder why the dragon was not chasing after him. When he had tried his impromptu plan he had kinda expected to have to outrun it while looking for what he needed. The lack of said chase was worrying, to say the least.

 

He moved low between the piles of riches, being careful to not make any sound. Being a ninja, it was not a difficult task even if the surface he was walking on was formed by literally thousands of metallic disks that were extremely annoying to work with. Finally, he peeked from behind them to take a look at the dragon.

 

It was looking right at him from where it was, sitting close to the exit like a very large and scaly watchdog. Inoichi felt a cold shiver down his spine as he realized that his carefully stealthy approach had been for nothing. The dragon didn’t seem keen to attack though, but considering that he was blocking the mind-walker’s only way out it wasn’t surprising. The dragon had time. The man was instead limited by his chakra reserves, which were being slowly but steadily drained by his mental projection technique. 

 

The last thing the Yamanaka wanted was to remain blocked inside another man’s mind in company of a dragon, so time was essential. 

 

He hid again behind the pile—it may not have been necessary, but it was a well-ingrained habit he couldn't ignore. The Yamanaka took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and hovered a hand above the coins, pushing his perceptions deep down the mind's bowels, hoping that the dragon didn't change its mind and decide it wanted a snack.

 

He felt his senses expanding, moving under the surface, searching for something that he hoped was there. Sensations and moments of a life that wasn’t his flashed in front of him, chilling cold and blood in the snow and honour and battle cries, but it wasn’t what he needed.

 

Still, he could feel something in the distance, strong and powerful memories, the kind someone wouldn’t want to share with other people. Whatever resistance the mind could’ve offered, Inoichi just passed through it, aiming for the strongest one he could sense before  _ pulling, _ not unlike a fisherman would do when it was time to see the catch of the day. There was a clink, and Inoichi felt something touch his open hand. He opened his eyes and stared at it. 

 

It was a pendant, a circular golden trinket with a series of intricate loops, four of which formed a cross-like shape centered around a small sapphire, the chain still peeking from the coins it had emerged from. It looked a bit dented, though, and the gem itself was cracked in the middle. What could it mean, Inoichi wasn’t entirely sure, but he felt… an assorted variety of emotions emanating from it, both joyful and dark. He found himself almost overwhelmed by it.

 

It was exactly what he needed to either distract or incapacitate the overgrown lizard. It was a simple plan, as shinobi plans went. Use the memory, see the dragon’s reaction, continue exploring the memory if it somehow managed to subdue the beast or escape as it was affected by the backlash if it wasn’t. 

 

Inoichi didn’t try to sneak this time, he just walked straight on the top of the pile. Not because he wanted to seem smug or taunt his enemy, but he just didn’t see the point—although the dragon seemed to be confused by his move, judging by the way it had cocked its head. Also, the position was good to dash towards the exit if something went wrong. Or went right. 

 

Locking eyes with the dragon once again, he concentrated his chakra on the pendant’s surface, and let its contents flood his and the beast’s minds. 

 

A shady town with a rotten heart. Squalor, fear and corruption. Dark deals, made out of a common interest. A woman in a blue dress, looking at him with curious eyes. Stolen money, brawls in an alley. An association grows into a friendship. Stolen kisses on a rooftop. Passion, desire. Her body pressed against his. Love. A trap is sprung. Vindication is claimed. Betrayal, regret. The mission comes first. A fortuitous meeting, years later. Heated words, rage, steel meets steel. There is no point. One last kiss. A passion relighted, before her dagger stabs his left lung. Falling, falling, falling—

 

Inoichi found himself splayed across the bed of coins, the pain in his side quickly fading since it had never been his. He had expected a vivid experience, but nothing like that. He shuddered, thinking how much worse it could’ve been had he not braced for the experience and looked to see how badly the dragon may have reacted to it.

 

The dragon was not in front of the entrance anymore. Instead, it was towering over him, fangs bared in a silent snarl and emanating the most malicious aura ever felt since Orochimaru decided to cut things for shit and giggles. Somewhere inside his own mind, Inoichi had realized that his plan had not worked, but was too occupied crawling on his back, away from the pissed off dragon, and trying to get up and make a run for it at the same time. 

 

**“Vir krilon hi?”** the massive creature asked as it kept following him. Even if the words didn’t make sense, the message was clear: it had not appreciated what the Yamanaka had done.   **“Vir krilon hi, hah-lir?”**

 

Somehow, Inoichi managed to roll back on his feet. He didn’t waste time before sprinting towards the exit, ducking under the dragon’s wings. He had barely started to get some distance between himself and the creature when he heard three words that resounded like thunder. 

 

A whirlwind howled around Inoichi, and the dragon appeared right in front of him, jaws open like if to swallow him whole. The mind-walker ducked, and changed direction as the beast’s mouth snapped shut far too close to comfort.

 

A quick shunshin and he was at a safe distance again in the blink of an eye—even if it was a very bad idea spending chakra so freely during a mind-probing session. It didn't seem to deter his pursuer though since three loud words echoed in the chamber again, and the dragon reappeared once again in front of Inoichi with a gust of wind.

 

**“Fus—”** the dragon said, inhaling deeply after the single word. 

 

Inoichi found himself slowly losing the battle against his urge to panic as he stifled a yelp and threw himself into a dodge. He didn’t know exactly what attack to expect next, but he certainly didn’t want to get caught in it.

 

“ **—Ro DAH!”**

 

The words reverberated around the room before the mind-walker felt the wall of sheer force slam into him from behind, throwing him across the chamber until he impacted on the actual wall and crumbling on the ground. Inochi immediately tried to get up, even if he knew that he was at the end of his rope, but found himself pinned to the ground by one of the dragon’s claws, unable to move. 

 

**“Ganog kred,”** the beast said with a low growl and the Yamanaka knew that it was over. Frying him with flames, eating him alive, just pushing a bit more with the claw until he was skewered or who knows what else the dragon could do, the result was the same. His mind would be irreparably damaged as a result, probably enough to send him in a coma. 

 

Still, he stubbornly refused to close his eyes in defeat, and didn’t waver under the dragon’s hateful gaze.

 

It was only because of this that he saw the hail of shuriken impacting against the dragon's head with a metallic screech, sparks sent flying. The big reptile roared, more in surprise than in pain, as it looked around for the origin of the attack. If possible, Inoichi was even more surprised. Had the Hokage sent someone from his clan to help him? How did they understand that he was in danger?

 

Whoever the newcomer was, the dragon had apparently pinpointed his location judging by the stream of flames that were thrown around. The next hail of weapons arrived from the opposite direction though, much to the dragon's confusion and anger. It turned around,  _ lightning  _ coming out of its mouth this time, lighting up the cavernous room. 

 

Inoichi was almost blinded by the display, but before he could shield his eyes two strong hands grabbed his shoulders and then he felt a  _ pull _ . For a brief, almost unnoticeable moment all his body felt like it was being yanked away with such a force that it could tear him up to shreds, but a heartbeat later it was over. His body was still whole, and he was not in the memory’s main room anymore. 

 

There were no gold piles or pillars in sight. The cavernous place had been replaced by a noticeably smaller room. Stone floor, wooden ceiling and walls, a few doors and a ramp of stairs going upwards. In the end it wasn’t unlike houses you could find in rural villages. 

 

Some sort of fire pit was in the middle of it, and its walls were decorated by a disparate assortment of strange items. 

 

What was this place?

 

“So they did send you, just as planned. You really made him mad, you know,” a voice behind him said. A voice he had not heard in twelve years. Slowly, the Yamanaka turned around—

 

“Hello, Inoichi,” Namikaze Minato said with a smile, looking not even a day older than the day he’d died. “You’ve aged well.”

 

The mind-walker spun around, getting in a defensive position and looking at his saviour warily. 

 

"Who are you? Why do you look like—" 

 

"Oh, right. I suppose it would be too crazy to believe me outright,” the fake Yondaime interrupted him, turning pensive for a moment  “Mmh... during the earlier stages of the war, you, Nara Shikaku and Akimichi Chouza were stationed on the western border, and your reputation as the new Ino-Shika-Cho trio started spreading after the battle of Higashino—"

 

"Anyone could know that by reading the battle reports,” Inoichi said, cutting him off. “I'm grateful for the rescue, but showing up like this is—"

 

"And immediately after the war, Shikaku married Yoshino. At his bachelor party you got so drunk that you spent two hours whining to me about how you would never find the 'right woman to marry'. Your actual words, if I recall correctly."

 

Inoichi’s eye slowly widened, and he found himself unable to reply.

 

"Then you got very emotional and started to cry a little. You almost spoiled the mood but then Chouza convinced you to dance with one of the girls in the, uh, establishment and then you—"

 

"You swore you would never—” he blurted out, only to shut his mouth when he realized what he was saying. “Minato…?”   
  
"Yes and no. Technically speaking, I'm just a representation of the memories that Minato put inside his brother's brain.”

 

"Wait, your  _ brother _ ?!” he asked. Inoichi had noticed some resemblance in the prisoner, but he had never thought about this possibility. “Minato, just where—and how did you put those in his head? You're dead!"

 

"It's a long story, and we don't have much time. Let's start with this place, though,” Minato said, waving his arms to indicate the room. “I don't have memories of it, but I'm pretty sure that it's the house where I was born, a long way from Konoha..."

 

* * *

 

As Inoichi woke up inside of the interrogation room, Sarutobi breathed in relief from the other side of the one-way mirror.

 

“Thirty-five minutes. An unusually long time,” he mused to Danzo, who was standing right beside him, while the Yamanaka left the room in a hurry, ignoring the unconscious prisoner. From what he had been told, time was perceived differently during a mind-probe and he couldn’t help but wonder how much had passed for the mind-walker.

 

His old friend barely managed to nod before the door opened and Inoichi all but barged inside the observation room.

 

“Hokage-sama, I have some  _ interesting  _ things to tell you,” he said, glancing briefly at Danzo. 

 

“Well then, Yamanaka-san. Do your report,” the crippled retired shinobi demanded. 

 

“What I have to say is for Hokage-sama alone,” Inoichi added, in a stony voice. 

 

Hiruzen looked back and forth between the two men who were now engaged in a silent staring contest and inwardly sighed. He knew that Danzo had his own means to gather whatever information Inoichi had extracted from the stranger’s mind, and so did Inoichi. It would only require more time. If the Yamanaka was showing such stubbornness, it could only mean two things: either he had found something important, dangerous, or both.

 

“Very well, let’s go to my office then,” he finally said, bidding farewell to Danzo. “We’ll have all the privacy we need.”

 

* * *

 

“If I understood you correctly, you just told me that the Kyuubi’s attack was not an accident,” Sarutobi said slowly, breaking the silence. “Instead, it was a deliberate act by a mysterious shinobi with the Sharingan and a one-eyed mask.”

 

“Exactly, Hokage-sama. That’s what the Yondaime told me,” Inoichi replied. 

 

“Do you realize that this doesn’t leave this room? I firmly believe that such information goes  _ beyond _ S-rank secret.”

 

“I agree. Although, sir… there’s the matter of this enemy’s identity.”

 

“True, but I’m afraid we may never find out. Best case scenario, Itachi killed the one responsible that tragic night five years ago, maybe catching him by surprise. Worst case scenario...” Hiruzen sighed deeply in frustration. He was getting too old for this. Scratch that, he  _ was  _ too old for this. “Worst case scenario,  there’s a third Uchiha out there, who is able to control a  _ Bijuu _ . Something that’s been unheard of since Madara’s time.”

 

“It could be someone with an implanted eye, like Hatake-san,” Inoichi suggested. “Besides, there was no one in the Uchiha clan that could pose a threat against Minato in a one-on-one combat.”

 

“One of the shinobi’s greatest skills is to not reveal all his abilities, or have you forgotten that?” Sarutobi asked rhetorically, taking a long puff from his pipe. “I doubt that someone with an implanted doujutsu could master it to such levels, but anyway, there’s no elements to proceed in any direction for now. We should consider ourselves lucky to have gotten this information.”

 

That quite frustrated the Sandaime. There weren’t a lot of things that could make a Kage feel powerless, but learning that the countless deaths of that night, including those of Biwako, Minato, and Kushina had been caused by a single man and not being able to find out more or if the village was still in danger was surely enough. He hated it.

 

“Moving on,” he said, deciding to not dwell on it. For now. “The prisoner, this Harissen-san… he  _ is  _ Minato's twin brother."

 

"Yes, Hokage-sama," Inoichi confirmed with a nod.

 

"And he is from a completely different continent that lies on the other side of an ocean, with different languages, traditions, and people."

 

"Yes," the younger shinobi confirmed, nodding again.

 

"And where he is from, there's a way to enter inside the Shinigami's belly. That's how he met Minato,” Hiruzen kept summing up, not mentioning that this meant that said twin was crazy enough to  _ enter the Shinigami’s belly _ , and somehow able to leave it unscathed.

 

"So I was told."

 

"And Minato put some of his memories into him."

 

"Again, that’s correct."

 

"How is it that he cannot understand our language, then?" 

 

"Minato suggested that the cause may be the nature of his brother's soul, even if I'm not sure what he meant by that. It could also be because of the small time window he had to operate. In the end, the implant didn’t work properly, but if I can give my professional opinion, so to speak, there could still be some side-effects of it."

 

“Side-effects?” Hiruzen asked, raising an eyebrow. 

 

“Nothing dangerous, from what I could see in Harissen-san’s mind and what Minato told me,” the mind-walker quickly reassured. “Mostly it would be like… dreams, made from fragments of Minato’s life. At the most, he could develop some of the same tics and gestures that Minato was prone to using.”

 

"Can it be fixed? There's a lot of things that I would like to ask him, and our people in the laboratories as well," Hiruzen asked, glancing at a report about the chemical mixtures the stranger had been carrying. To say the least, his scientific division was puzzled. 

 

"Tampering with an already tampered mind could be... tricky. Potentially dangerous, even fatal."

 

"What do you suggest we do, then?"

 

"All the knowledge about our language is already in there," Inoichi said, tapping his head. "Instead of risking an invasive procedure, I think it would be for the best to try to wake it up by more mundane means."

 

“Do you mean… teaching?” Hiruzen asked, thinking how ironic it was since that had been his original plan before events had forced his hand.

 

“Teaching,” the blond repeated with a nod. 

 

"Let's hope it will not take too much time, then. One more thing." Hiruzen took a long pause and another whiff of tobacco before speaking again. "Does he know about Naruto?"

 

“So... it’s true,” the Yamanaka leader whispered, grief and regret clearly visible on his face. “And I suppose that ‘Uzumaki’ is not a surname that was given to him by the orphanage…”

 

“Inoichi,” Hiruzen said in a warning tone.

 

“No, he doesn’t know,” the blond said, his voice regaining its usual strength. And I didn’t tell Minato’s apparition about his son’s life, so that it wouldn’t be archived among his memories.”

 

“Naruto’s parentage is obviously another S-rank secret,” Sarutobi informed regretfully. “You’re forbidden to discuss it with anyone.”

 

“With all respect, sir… why keep it a secret? Any of us would’ve taken him. Hell, I’m sure that Shikaku would’ve  _ gladly _ adopted him!”

 

“Would he? Would  _ you _ ? Even knowing about his burden?” the Hokage asked without mercy.

 

“I—”

 

“Had I allowed for such a thing, for one of Minato’s close acquaintances to adopt his son, it would’ve been just a matter of time before someone among Minato and Kushina’s numerous enemies would’ve noticed something,” Hiruzen explained, interrupting the other man. “Even hiding his true identity wouldn’t have helped if he was seen close to someone that knew his parents.”

 

“We could’ve said that he was mine,” Inoichi said, clearly not convinced of his own words.

 

“I thought about it,” Sarutobi said, surprising the Yamanaka. “But anyone who tried would clearly see that he isn’t yours, even if you have similar traits.”

 

“What about  _ you _ then? Or Jiraiya-sama? Surely he could’ve—”

 

“As you know, Konoha was terribly weakened that night, and in the following months the other villages were watching us like vultures. Looking for a weakness. I was reinstated in my position, and for this, right in the spotlight, so to speak. As for Jiraiya… Jiraiya has his reasons,” Hiruzen simply said, refusing to elaborate more as he put down his pipe. “In the end, keeping Naruto in the dark as an orphan was the only thing I could do to protect him.”

 

“And you gave him his mother’s surname, since it’s not unusual giving to orphans those of extinct families.”

 

“Indeed. Now, if you don’t mind—”

 

“I would have one last question, if I can ask of course. Hokage-sama,” Inoichi quickly said, adding the title as an afterthought. 

 

“I answered a lot of questions today anyway, one more will not hurt. Even if I can imagine what it is,” the Sandaime said with a sad smile.

 

“Why did you reveal that the Kyuubi was sealed inside Naruto?”

 

“Because I was—and am—an old fool. The people needed something to help them go on with their lives after the tragedy. They needed hope. I had thought that by telling them the truth, revealing that the Yondaime had sealed the fox in a container, paying such a sacrifice…” he said, his voice fading as he kept speaking. He forcibly composed himself, and continued his explanation, even if it sounded more like a confession in his ears. “Instead, they saw Naruto as a scapegoat for all their suffering, their losses, for the lives destroyed by the beast. You know how that went in the end.”

 

“Your law,” Inoichi simply stated.

 

Sarutobi nodded. He had probably broken that law just now, along with various village secrets as he clarified those events to Inoichi—whose attitude has been borderline insubordinate, but after all the years under the hat, it felt good being able to finally vent a little. It eased his conscience, just a little bit. 

 

“You’re wondering if I’m planning to have them meet, aren’t you?” he asked after another pause.

 

“Minato would’ve wanted them to meet,” the other man said, with a barely suppressed frown.

 

“For now, I can’t allow that,” the Hokage said with a regretful voice. 

 

“I’m aware that it’s your decision to make, Hokage-sama, but don’t you think that Naruto has the right to know his living family?” 

 

“Of course he does, but this man, he is a stranger. I’m not talking about the fact that he is from another place, I mean that we don’t know what kind of person he is, or about his goals or if he could even be a threat to the village. We can’t even understand him. We only know that he is Minato’s brother, and that his arrival and his stroll through Earth Country was enough to stir up Iwa’s attention. I suppose you know that they sent a team at the last minute…”

 

“I’m aware of that. They’re already under surveillance, of course.”

 

“Of course. So you can see why I can’t allow Naruto to meet his uncle, yet.”

 

“So… what happens now?”

 

* * *

 

As he kept listening to the head proctor, Naruto got more and more confused. Why were they being randomly assigned seats to take an exam? Weren’t they supposed to fight or something?

 

It was only when he saw one of the other chunin starting to hand out sheets of paper that the reality of the situation started to sink to him. 

 

“A WRITTEN TEST?!” he shouted in horror. 

 

* * *

 

The kiss was warm and passionate. He had not planned on spending the afternoon like this, but he surely would not complain. 

 

The kiss deepened, and he could feel her body pressed against his own, and the mutual desire growing. Without warning, the embrace was interrupted and he was pushed against the bed, stumbling like a fool as he fell on it.

 

He tried to get up, but something soft hit him on the face. It was her blouse.

 

As she stood half-undressed in front of him, her red long hair falling like a crimson cascade, he realized that he was a lucky son of a—

 

Conrad jerked awake with a terrible headache, eyes wide in shock. Or, how he would rationalize a few minutes later, _ forced himself _ awake. There were things that a man should  _ never _ know about his sibling’s private life. 

 

Seriously, what had Minato thought in giving him  _ that _ ?! It had to be an accident, right? Didn’t matter, it was going on his list. He mentally filed it away as something worthy of  _ two _ punches. 

 

Even if the woman had an amazing—

 

“Dammit!” he growled, punching the ground he was sitting on for a good measure, only to hit something soft. He looked down, and found out that he had been sitting on a bed. 

 

He was not in his cell anymore. It was still a cell, judging by the metal door without a handle, but it looked almost like a normal room, if a little bare. There was a real bed, for starters, a white weird-looking throne-like chair was resting against one of the walls beside a weird-looking…  sink? The room was also brighter, thanks to an apparently more powerful version of the light orb he had seen in his older cell.

 

Also, he was not chained to the wall anymore. It seemed that for some reason his captors had decided to treat him better. The bracelets with glowings runes were still in their place, though, still sucking his magicka. Even if they had decided to treat him better, these guys were not stupid.

 

Why would they suddenly decide to give him slightly better lodgings, though? The last thing he remembered clearly was being tied to a chair in one of those rooms with a big mirror and—

 

The Nord! Well, not Nord-Nord but—whatever. The blond bastard! He had  _ entered  _ inside his mind, and not like with telepathy or one of those fancy specialized disciplines. That man had projected his soul inside his mind and taken a  _ stroll _ inside it. He knew of wizards that would’ve gladly given their fancy hats, robes, and maybe their not-favoured hand to be able to do such a thing.

 

He didn’t know what the man had been looking for, but he was sure that something had happened. Something—

 

“Oh, great,” he mumbled in realization, facepalming as he let himself fall on the mattress. The mind-worm had prodded in his mind and of course, this had awakened his soul’s instincts. “Just  _ fucking  _ great.”

 

_ Then _ , the fool had done… something. He wasn’t sure what had exactly happened since Conrad’s memory of the events was a bit blurry and second-handed, thanks to the awakening of his inner dragon, but he was sure of one thing.

 

The blond bastard had made him remember  _ her _ . 

 

Conrad's hand unconsciously moved to the scar he had gotten as a reminder of that night. 

 

The thoughts ran, igniting a burning fury through his veins. He wanted to break and tear the damn place down. But he didn't. Of course, he knew better. It would’ve been very dumb setting the room on fire while the door was locked. He couldn’t tell if his barely-kept in check fury was his own, or his soul’s.

 

In hindsight, he should’ve expected for his soul to wake up sooner or later since the drastic reduction in alcoholic intake he had been forced into recently. Or the lack of killing. Seriously, couldn’t some pathetic local monster have crossed his path while he was walking through that forest? Where were all the spriggans?!

 

Even now he could feel his draconic nature stirring, wanting to unleash all the pent-up urges—his own and the ones of all the others that Conrad had devoured during the years—against the first unlucky beings that even dared to look at him the wrong way. Since it had just awakened, though, its grip on his actions was still loose, so getting it back to sleep could be simple enough. 

 

A good drink, a good fight—heck even a good romp would do. It would either mildly satisfy his instincts or suppress them, and there was the extra gain of making him forget how shitty his life was. And once the soul was back to sleep, there’d be no urges to dominate others and show his “lessers” who had the real power on this side of Nirn, which was good in his personal opinion.

  
Sadly for him, there wasn’t any booze inside the cell or stuff to fight. Much less to roll on the bed with. In the face of such a dire situation, he knew that he didn’t have much choice.

 

He had to meditate. 

 

Conrad didn’t like the idea in the least. Meditating was for spiritual people like priests, monks, and Greybeards, and it required too much patience for his liking. 

 

Grumbling, he got up from the bed, sat on the floor in the right position, which he had always found more uncomfortable than relaxing. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and—

 

The sound of the door being unlocked broke whatever concentration he’d managed to gather. He should’ve expected it, though. When was the last time that he had been left undisturbed while busy with something important?

 

Four of those masked bastards were waiting outside of the cell, along with one man that sported the snail-marked metal plaque on his forehead, although it wasn’t like the one Ibiki and Anko had. It extended down the sides down on the man's face, and to Conrad it looked like  someone had tried to turn the plaque into a helm and gave up because of the lack of metal to work with, leaving a thing that looked like a half-completed mask instead. The not-masked man barked some order, to which Conrad replied by raising an eyebrow. Had no one told this guy that he wasn't able to understand them? 

 

The Nord still recognized a cue when he saw one though, so he slowly got up. He wasn't surprised when two of the masked freaks immediately grabbed him and dragged him out of the cell;, it wasn't anything new for him. Conrad could feel his soul twist and spasm, desperately wanting to obliterate these fools for the humiliation of being treated like this but he was able to remind himself that he had to behave, for his students’ safety. He wasn’t sure for how long that would work, though.

 

As the guards started to drag him through a series of tunnels, Conrad noticed that it wasn’t the same route they had used the previous times. He didn’t mind the change in the routine, but couldn’t help but wonder what was in store for him. Were they to try more  _ extreme _ methods of interrogation—even if it sounded like a very bad idea that wouldn’t accomplish anything, thanks to the language barrier—he would sic a pack of atronach against them, and to Oblivion the consequences.

 

While he was escorted through a seemingly infinite number of twists and turns, Conrad couldn’t figure out what was responsible for that thought between what little self-control he had left or the nature of his soul.

 

There was a metallic clank as the guards opened a door completely identical to the scores they had passed through, and Conrad swore as he was blinded by the sudden light. Thankfully for him, his guardians were kind enough to show him where to walk even as he wasn't even able to see his nose. 

 

His eyes adjusted quickly to the light of the day, and for the first time in days Conrad saw the sky again. Apparently, he had been taken on the top of a tall, rocky hill. Or a short mountain, but calling it a mountain could be considered an insult for the mountains back at home. And considering the mostly flat top, the closest thing that came to his mind were the mesas in some regions of Hammerfell. 

 

They passed some distance from a pair of dome-shaped buildings, but he didn’t care for those. He was more interested in the rest of the scenery. At the bottom of the rocky formation was a city, not the biggest he had ever seen—that honor went to the Imperial City—but big enough to have at least a dozen-thousands of people between its walls, maybe even twenty-thousands or more. It was difficult to judge when a group of armed people were basically dragging him to the forest that covered the rest of the mesa, away from the edge.

 

Although, if he threw himself down the cliff, and used what little magicka he had left to slow down his fall with a properly modified version of that old levitation spell, so as not to use too much energies… 

 

Conrad decided to ignore the idea. There were probably other masked guys around the city anyway, if they were the guards or the soldiers of this place, and throwing himself down a cliff without knowing if such a spell modified on the field would work would be incredibly  _ dumb _ . And of course, the magelings were still missing. 

 

The group walked through the forest for a few minutes, the trees starting to get thicker as they kept going only to abruptly stop as they reached a small clearing, barely wide enough to let the light from the sky through the foliage. At the center of it stood a small, unremarkable shack made of wood. 

 

A silent signal was probably given, because as the group stepped into the clearing the masked guys leaped away at that inhuman speed of theirs, disappearing through the thick woods or bushes. The snail-plaque man remained for a bit more, looking from the Nord to the shack, before glancing again at Conrad with a smirk.

 

Then he disappeared in a swirl of leaves—not like the others who had moved some leaves as they jumped or ran away, he literally turned into a bunch of leaves that were dispersed by the wind and Conrad was left alone like a clueless fool. 

 

Was leaving a prisoner alone  _ normal _ around this place? 

 

He felt like he was the victim in some sort of joke, but if that was the case, he wasn’t laughing. Maybe it was a test instead, to see if he would’ve tried to flee if left without supervision. The mere concept of that made him feel like someone had just insulted his intelligence, especially since he could actually  _ see _ one of the masked freaks. Sure, he had to squint his eyes and at first glance he wouldn’t have noticed it, but he could see one of them perched among the branches of a tree. Admittedly, having seen them disappearing in the forest had helped a bit, but it still counted in his opinion. And the others were obviously around, too. 

 

Grumbling some curses in all the languages he could think of, which were many, he strode towards the shack’s door. At a closer inspection, the shack was a bit weird;, it looked like someone had taken a giant block of wood and cut out everything that didn’t look like a shack, but he ignored it. He was pondering if he could get away with punching whoever was inside. Someone had to pay for the way he had been treated. 

 

The Nord didn’t bother to knock or to see if the door was locked. He kicked it, and it opened with little resistance much to his satisfaction. Conrad stepped in, growling and ready to vent some pent up righteous rage—only to find himself staring at a startled, wide-eyed Beta.

 

For a brief, incredibly brief moment, Conrad had no idea what was going on. Then he was tackled and hugged by a crying and almost hysterical teen. 

 

"Master! You're alive!" 

 

Conrad found himself unable to reply between the surprise and the embarrassment he was feeling. He nervously placed a hand on Beta’s shoulder, while checking the unfamiliar place he had entered. A small room, almost bare besides a window and two doors that led who knew where. Satisfied, he tried to calm the girl with some reassuring words but it just had the result of having her tighten the hug even more. Thankfully, nobody was around to watch—

 

"What is going on—Master!” Ta’Sava emerged from one of the doors, before jumping at the Nord and joining the hug-fest. “You're alive!" 

 

"Stop hugging me. Stop at once!" he ordered, but much to his dismay the young wizards would have none of it.  

 

"Wait, so he  _ is _ alive?" Sven asked as he walked from the same room. "Damn, I owe Ta'Sava a septim."

 

"You bet  _ against _ me?!" Conrad asked, although he was more outraged by how small the bet’s pot had been. 

 

"No offense Master, but I thought that you would've done something incredibly stupid and got either you or all of us killed," the young mage-in-training deadpanned.

 

"Oh trust me, I was  _ so  _ tempted,” he grumbled, before switching to more important matters. “What did they do to you? I swear, if they hurt you—"

 

"No, they didn't do anything,” Beta replied while drying her tears. “They kept us in some cells for a while and I was so scared but—"

 

"We were chained,” Sven flared while showing a manacle similar to the ones Conrad was wearing. “ _ Chained! _ Like we were criminals—"

 

"The strange men in white kept touching Ta'Sava, and measuring Ta'Sava's tail and fangs and claws and ears while taking notes,” the young Khajiit shrugged, freeing his teacher from his grip. “It was weird."

 

"How long have you been here?"

 

"I think... less than thirty minutes?" Beta said uncertainly, finally letting go as well. 

 

"Aye, we're still unpacking,” Sven nodded. 

 

"Unpacking?” Conrad asked in confusion. “Unpacking what?" 

 

"Our belongings, of course," the young Imperial deadpanned, gesturing to the room he had come from. The Nord walked to take a peek, and truth be told, the only things inside the room were a pile of sacks, their backpacks, and a few weird-looking boxes. 

 

"They gave us our stuff back?" he questioned in bewilderment. 

 

"Well... not everything. The money, the potions, and of course your armour and weapons are missing."

 

"What about the—"

 

"They took away your last bottle of mead as well, Master,” was the quick answer. “We checked." 

 

Conrad forced himself to take a deep breath to calm himself. It was fine, it was just mead after all. Plenty of mead around, it shouldn’t have been a problem. If he figured out how to get some, of course. 

 

Before he could start to plan how to get some booze under the guards’ noses—or directly from the guards—without getting caught  _ and then _ find a way to escape with his students, a group of masked guards entered the shack almost not making a sound. Conrad immediately stepped between them and the kids, ready to protect them… and was be promptly ignored as the masked individuals calmly kept bringing in various items.    
  
Chairs, a table, a small drawer, a counter, a closet—

 

“Master?” Beta’s voice meekly asked. “Why are the creepily silent people moving furniture in here?” 

 

In all honestly, Conrad had no idea how to reply to that. He was pretty sure that even Sheogorath wouldn’t have been able to explain this madness. Although, he would’ve surely enjoyed it.

 

In a matter of minutes, the rooms were fully furnished. Shelves and cupboards had been mounted on the walls, an empty bookcase had been placed beside the window, and the table, along with six chairs, was occupying most of the space at the center of the room. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was surely better than an empty room. 

 

The guards entered one more time, leaving some boxes on the table before disappearing in a puff of smoke that Conrad had started to find rather irritating. 

 

“That… was weird,” Sven broke the silence. “But at least this is way better than a cell.” 

 

Conrad groaned his frustration. “Just… check what’s in those boxes. And put our things in order, I think that’s what they’re expecting from us.”

 

The magelings scattered to do as told. Apparently, Conrad giving orders to them was enough to make the situation they were in resemble a normal routine. The Nord instead sat on a chair to clear his thoughts. Why the sudden change in behaviour? One moment he was treated like a dangerous prisoner and the kids used as hostages, and then they were basically given a house. Isolated, under surveillance, but still a house. All seemed to point to the defilement of his mind that he had been forced to endure in the morning, but why—   
  
Minato.   
  
They had found out about Minato, and whatever he did to his mind. It was the only explanation he could think of. So they were interested in him, but why?  _ Who  _ was Minato, in his lifetime? 

 

Maybe this city was not hostile, after—No. They were  _ clearly  _ hostile, they had threatened to torture  _ kids _ , by the Nine. What kind of sick bastards would do that just to find out why they were travelling on their lands?!

 

Conrad had to leave, and take the magelings with him. But how—

 

“Hey, there’s food in here,” the younger wizard’s voice shook him out of his musings. On the other side of the table, Sven was rummaging through the stuff that had been left on its surface and seemed to wonder how he could use them. “Or at least it looks like food…”

 

This sprang an idea in the Nord’s mind. “Sven, do you still have the cooking gear?” 

 

“I do—well, besides the cutlery. There’s nothing that resembles a decent knife.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Conrad smirked. “Why don’t you prepare us a meal?”

 

“And how am I supposed to cook this stuff?” the Imperial asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, leaving the shack without hesitating. After all, if the guards had left the door open, he could exit from it, right? 

 

The forest around the shack was silent, but Conrad knew better. He started gathering wood, but as he did so he started to purposely get more and more far from the shack, making a good show of choosing only the best pieces of wood he found. As he felt a presence behind him, he stopped and turned around. One of the masked guards was standing behind him, and while the woman—had to be a woman, with those hips—was not in a threatening posture, the silent message was clear. A second later, two other guards appeared, standing on the side—was it even standing if you were sideways?—of the trees.

 

Twenty meters. The guards had not bothered him until he had walked twenty meters away from the shack. With a grumping sound, Conrad straightened the pile of wood in his hands and walked back towards the cabin. He had enough, now it was time to wait for the night. 

 

He had find a way out of the city.

 

* * *

 

The giant snake was slithering lazily through the forest, perfectly at ease among the huge trees. Around the whole forest, battles for survival were being fought but the reptile couldn't care a bit. It had just swallowed a nice prey, as the bulge in its belly clearly showed, and now it was looking for a nice sheltered spot where it could digest in peace. Which was not easy, given its size.

 

So, when the squirming meal suddenly multiplied in mass and volume, bloating its body in a grotesque way, the snake's shock and confusion could be understandable. Before the snake could do anything, like puke the now not very welcome meal, its body exploded, severed in half in a spectacular show of blood, gory bits, dozens of orange-clad blond kids and scaly pieces. 

 

Thankfully, the death had been almost instantaneous.

 

As for the blondes, most dissolved in a puff of smoke, some were sprawled on the ground in various states of shock, and others were just grateful of being out of the beast's stomach. 

 

"I'm going to be the Hokage," one of them, roughly in the middle of the group proclaimed pridefully. "I can't be turned into shit in a place like this!" 

 

* * *

 

It was time. 

 

Conrad slowly got up from the bedroll he had “slept” for the last hour or so and crept towards the door to one of the side rooms. Opening it enough to take a peek, he was satisfied to see that the kids were all asleep. It surely had taken longer than he had expected.

 

Having assured that they were safe and sound, he went to retrieve the plate of "leftovers" he had saved after dinner. Opening the pot, he dipped his fingers into the slippery, oily gravy and started to spread it all over his wrists. So greased, he started to pull the manacles, one at a time. Slipping them off was a long and painful task, but once the thumb was free it was basically done.

 

The Nord massaged his sore hands, enjoying the sensation of his free skin and feeling his arcane power being restored to its peak. He also helped himself with a quick snack from the pot, since it was bad wasting food. 

 

Still munching the nightly meal, he lazily flickered his fingers and let the spell show him how many living beings were in the surrounding area. Ignoring the three snoring teens in the next room and the small nocturne fauna, he saw the souls of four masked guards shining like beacons in the night. In any other circumstances he would’ve felt insulted by being given only four guards to check on him, but these people were all but normal. He walked to the wall that seemed less exposed to the guard’s attentions, started to shape his magical power with both of his hands and concentrated for a minute. No turning back once he started this.

 

**“Feim,”** Conrad said at the lowest volume he could muster for the shout. He could feel his body turning incorporeal, eerily similar to a ghost. Mentally counting to five, he took a step through the wall without encountering any resistance from the solid object. 

 

Just as he got out in the chilly night air, his body turned back to normal and he released the spell he had been holding. There was a weakly green aura that quickly faded as he felt it taking its effect and a look to his raised hands confirmed that he was invisible. 

 

The whole thing may have lasted for a second, but Conrad crouched in waiting, wanting to be sure that the guards would not swarm the place to check for something unusual. He flickered his hand to detect their life forces once again, and noted to his satisfaction that they were still in their original places. 

 

Still crouched, the invisible Nord started to advance into the night, being careful to not step on anything that could make a revealing sound. Conrad knew that he was completely out of his element here. He was not used to moving this way, having chosen to follow the way of the battlemage years ago. Thankfully, he had learned enough to support his deficiencies through the use of the Illusion school, but being used to clunking around in a set of heavy armour didn’t really help. He didn’t know how to step correctly or any other tricks of the trade, like Haming used to tease him about.

 

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he kept moving, using his sweaty palms to press his clothes against his body, so that they would not rustle in a betraying manner. Now it was not the time to think about his fellow former Helgen inhabitant. Conrad squinted in the pale moonlight and made sure to watch his step, as a broken branch would be as good as crying out. He carefully made his way back through the trees he had been dragged through earlier. At least, he hoped they were the same ones, it wasn’t easy finding the right way in a forest during the nighttime. He was almost out of the tree range and he could see the edge of the mesa now. There was a strange glowing coming from the city under it, which caused him to hesitate.

 

Ironically, this was revealed to be for the best, since as he stopped to examine the mysterious light one of the masked guards landed almost in front of him, facing away and crouching on the ground. 

 

Conrad slowly pressed one of his hands against his mouth and nose, to hide the sound of his breathing, hoping that the bastard would just  _ leave _ and go back to his patrol. Of course, there was no way he would have such luck. The guard started moving his head around, in a way that reminded the Nord of an animal, taking a few… sniffs of the air?! Was this guy tracking him down using his  _ scent _ ?!?

 

Was he a werewolf?

 

If that was so, then he was in deep, deep trouble. If he had not been found out yet it was probably mere luck. Maybe he was down wind, and the werewolf-guard had lost his scent? He didn’t want to know how long it would’ve taken for him to find it again, though. 

 

As the guard started to sniff the ground a short distance from him, Conrad slowly, very slowly turned away from the man, staring back into the trees, and cupped his hands around his mouth, and decided to risk it.

 

“Zul,” he whispered, so quietly that he almost didn't hear it. He could only pray that it was the same for the werewolf. Less than a second later, Conrad could hear his own voice curse something from the deep of the forest. 

 

The guard’s head snapped in that direction, and if the Nord was able to read his body language he was genuinely surprised. The man unsheathed a rather large dagger from his back and leaped away in the night. Conrad would’ve liked to sigh in relief but didnt dare. Instead he immediately moved, taking advantage of the distraction he had conjured. 

 

He finally got closer to the edge, and saw where the glowing was coming from. It was the city. The whole city seemed to be covered by those light orbs, so many that they were brightening the night. This, was something he had never seen, not even in Imperial City.    
  
Snapping out of it, he looked around, spotting a ramp of stairs that would’ve taken him down to the city. As he started to descend on the steps, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of people could be able to build such a place, and then wonder what kind of people inhabited it. This thought made him realize something.   
  
These people used werewolves as guards. Or at least,  _ one _ werewolf. But if the time spent drinking, joking and fighting along the Companions had taught him something, it was that where there was one werewolf, there was a pack of them. There could be more, even in the city below him.    
  
If that was the case, there was no way he would be able to pull off this escape plan. Not with the magelings at least, and even without them he would’ve probably been found sooner or later and he would have to fight his way out of the city. 

 

He had to remind himself that abandoning his students was  _ not _ an option. Even if Sven could be irritating sometimes. 

 

Conrad groaned, leaning against the metal railing. Maybe, if he tried to pass from the rest of the mesa, instead of sneaking out through the city...

 

He looked up at the edge, and noticed for the first time the mesa’s rocky surface. On its side, four giant faces had been carved out of the stone, like the ones he had dreamt of months ago. The glowing light from the city below was reflecting on them, giving them a solemn air. And the one most distant from him, the fourth, was—

 

Conrad didn’t speak for a long time. He didn’t even notice when his spell faded and he became visible again. The world had just proved that it was incredibly unfair.

 

“I save  _ creation  _ two, maybe three times, I get nothing besides a lot of enemies,” he slowly said, watching his twin’s face sculpted in the stone. “You save a  _ city…  _ and they turn your face into a monument. Even if you have a sissy chin.”

 

Which he had too, of course. Indeed, very unfair. At least he had the decency of hiding it behind his beard.

 

The Nord thought about everything that had happened since he had started the crazy journey and couldn’t help it. He started laughing. 

 

He had found Cornoah. 

 

Still laughing, he walked up the ramp of stairs, intending to go back to the shack and get some sleep. 

 


	10. Lessons And Even More Meetings

 

Gareki Ishina was not a happy person. Partly, it was because of how her peers looked at her, thinking her a coward for having fled during a fight. The fact that all her comrades had died in the blink of an eye and that the man that had slaughtered them was the Yellow Flash seemed to matter little for most of them. 

 

Right now, though, even in the middle of the night, the jonin was not a happy person for a completely different reason. Like the other jonin-sensei, she was waiting for the end of the second task, but being the only Iwa shinobi in the whole place she was quite a peculiar case and as such she had been the target of quite a number of glares during the day. Even the ninja from the smaller villages had been avoiding her, hoping not to risk the ire of their Konoha host.

 

It was fine by her. She wasn't really here to have "her team" take part in the exam or exchange pleasantries with her enemies, anyway. Her team would pass the survival test, she had no doubt about it, they were no mere genin after all. Their investigations about the “Yellow Flash Sightings” couldn’t really start until the traditional one-month gap between the second task and the tournament in front of the potential customers. Only then would she be able to find out the truth.

 

That was for another time though, so she went back to sharpening her weapons and imagining how it would be satisfying to use them against the thrice-cursed blond. 

 

* * *

 

“Soooo… when are we leaving?” Sven, asked, serving to everyone his improvised porridge.    
  


“Leaving?” Conrad asked in return, while flipping a page from the book he was reading.   
  
  
“We know you left during the night, Master.”

 

“How so?” the Nord asked without moving his gaze from the book.

 

“We were woken up by you coming in while laughing,” Sven deadpanned, although he seemed quite irked about it.

 

“Pretty sure that our, uh, hosts know that too,” Beta said while glancing nervously to the masked guards that were literally surrounding the table they were having breakfast at. Between them and the seated wizards, the shack was a bit overcrowded. 

 

“Do they?” Conrad pondered, playing a bit with his still slightly greased manacles as he glanced smugly at the guards. He could swear that he could feel them glaring at him even through their masks. 

 

“Ta’Sava bets they do,” the Khajiit nodded, serving himself another portion. Where was he putting all that food? 

 

“I’m not betting on that,” Sven said before turning back to Conrad. “Back on point, we’re all together now. So, when are we going to escape?”

 

“Escape?” the Nord snorted, lowering his gaze to concentrate on his breakfast. “We’re exactly where we are supposed to be.”   
  
  
“What?” all the three magelings chorused, their eyes wide. Before Conrad could clarify, though, the shack's door opened and yet another person stepped into the packed room, saying something that may have been a greeting or an introduction in the Akaviri tongue. Conrad didn’t really register the greeting though, since in the second he realized who was standing on the other side of the room he could feel his blood boil.

 

The other Nord.

 

The blond bastard.  
  
  
The mind-worm.

 

The Reminder Of Things That Are Better Left Forgotten.

 

_ A friend _ .  
  
  
Wait, where did the last thought come from?! Conrad could feel his fury evaporate, being replaced by confusion and doubt. He surely wasn’t a friend with—

 

Minato. Of course it was Minato’s fault. Most of the things that had caused him problems in the last months had been related to him one way or another. He filed that in the list—he would really need to visit Castle Volkihar if he ever managed to get back in Tamriel—and decided to just glare at the man as a matter of principle. 

 

After a few silent seconds, the man put a large bag he had been carrying on the table with an awkward smile and opened it, revealing a set of strangely small books without any hard leather cover. Judging by his students’ reaction, Conrad wasn’t the only one weirded out by that.

 

* * *

 

Sitting in his private office, Shimura Danzo reflected on the latest news he had received from his personal agents. 

 

Namikaze Minato’s brother was not in a cell anymore. Instead, he was being kept as a valuable “guest” in a house within the ANBU training grounds. This, because of whatever Yamanaka Inoichi had found inside the foreigner’s mind. 

 

Sarutobi had kept the information for himself and Danzo had not pressed him too much about it. Even if he considered his old friend a sentimental fool, the bandaged shinobi knew that there were limits to what he could do when it came to challenging the Hokage. Trying to pry what had clearly become classified information directly from Hiruzen was beyond those limits. 

 

No sense trying to get the whole story from the Yamanaka, either. Should he disappear for a day or two, questions would be asked. Also, trying to interrogate a Yamanaka was a waste of time more often than not.

 

Of course, he had ways. He had not protected Konoha from the shadows for decades by idly waiting for vital intelligence to just land on his lap. As far as he was concerned, this Harissen Conrad was a completely unknown variable, and this was unacceptable.    
  
He had already decided to send some of his own operators to spy on the foreigner, with discretion of course. Soon, Danzo would know what there was to know about this twin that had shown up at Konoha’s door. Maybe even more than Sarutobi.   
  
Should the man and his young followers turn out to be a danger to Konoha, then he would strike swiftly and do what the Sandaime probably wouldn’t be able to. 

 

Otherwise, he could think of how to use him to the village’s advantage...

 

* * *

 

“That’s supposed to be a tower?” a young man asked to his teammates, spying at the tall construction that emerged from the thick vegetation.

 

“It’s the only building in the whole forest, and it’s at the center of it. It must be,” the other one, much shorter and thinner than his companion said without even looking at said tower, opting to keeping watch around their shelter dug under a tree’s root.

 

“But it looks like a pile of buildings, like if someone just placed them above the other!” the first one replied back sharply. “That’s not how you build a tower!” 

 

“Yeah, well… why don’t you go tell it to the Hokage, Mizu? Maybe he will listen to you, I’m sure he would be interested to know how you know so much about engineering.” 

 

“Shut up Yano, you barbarian,” the bigger shinobi frowned. “People so fixated about explosions like you can’t understand the beauty in sculpting rock and earth into a perfectly stable, safe and  _ durable  _ example of architecture!” 

 

“Oh I understand well instead…” Yano deadpanned, glancing at his bigger teammate. “I understand how to blow them up!” 

 

“Cut it out, you two. Do you really have to bicker in enemy territory?” the kunoichi spoke for the first time. She understood that her teammates were frustrated, and not just for having to masquerade as genin. Deciding to hide for the first days of the exam after quickly acquiring a scroll had been a necessary move to keep their cover, since completing the test too soon would’ve looked suspicious… but idly waiting with these two was really starting to get on her nerves.

 

“Sorry, Kurotsuchi-sama,” Mizu quietly said. “We didn’t want to—”

 

“Don’t use my name, you idiot!” she hissed. “We’re undercover, or did you forget that?!”

 

“Right, right!” the large ‘genin’ backtracked. “Sorry, Kuroi!” 

 

“That’s better,” the girl nodded, before going back to checking her equipment. “We’ll wait twelve more hours, and then we’ll go to the tower. Is that good?”   
  
“Yes, all clear. Sorry for the slip, I’m not used to this undercover stuff.” 

 

“I actually like my new name,” Yano said smiling.   
  
“Everyone would be happy, considering how embarrassing your real name is.”   
  
“Shut up,  _ Mizu _ .”

 

Kurotsuchi took a deep breath, and tried to remind herself why she wasn’t able to kill these two idiots.

 

Oh right, they were Iwa shinobi, too.

 

* * *

 

“Tree,” Inoichi chanted, indicating the kanji he had written on the chalkboard brought in by the ANBU, along with the rough drawing of a tree to make it even more understandable. 

 

“Tree,” the four foreigners repeated, although with various degrees of accents and enthusiasm. Or lack of. 

 

“Cup,” the Yamanaka kept going, writing a different symbol after erasing the previous one. He wasn’t exactly a teacher, but the point of this was more about trying to stimulate the memories that Minato had placed deep inside his brother’s mind. Or at least that was the theory.  
  
“Cup.”  
  
“Plate,” he said, moving on with the lesson. As the Hokage had told him, he was the best choice for this task because he could tell if Minato’s twin—Harissen-san, Inoichi chastised himself for forgetting—was any under strain because of this “treatment”.  
  
“Plate.”  
  
“Window,” Inoichi recited. A part of him was wondering if he had been chosen to do this just because the Sandaime didn’t want to reveal that Minato had a living family and because he had been a bit insubordinate inside his office. So here he was, trying to jog some deep-hidden memories with visual aids instead of being able to worry about his daughter, who was still in the Forest of Death.   
  
“Window,” the group kept saying, none of them getting the intonation right. The Yamanaka couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.  
  
Unbeknownst to him, Conrad grumbled about how humiliating this was.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere far, far away from a certain Hidden Village, a man was sipping warm sake in a fairly cozy inn that would’ve deserved more customers. Sure, the food was not the best around and the booze was cheap, but the serving girls were gorgeous! That made the modest inn much better than any five-star hotel in the area in his own not-exactly humble opinion.

 

Of course, there was also another reason for him to be there besides some eye-candy. 

 

“Here you go, sir,” a young beauty said, winking at him while serving some dishes. “Your  _ special order _ is ready.”

 

He nodded, uncharacteristically not ogling at the woman—at least too much. There was business to attend to, after all. She could be ogled at later.

 

He took the lid off the main dish, unsurprised to see a scroll resting on a bed of fresh lettuce. Checking the seal placed upon it, he nodded in satisfaction when it turned out to be genuine. It was fortunate that he had decided to come to check in this place in case there was any news from Konoha, but had it been otherwise he was sure that his sensei would’ve managed to contact him in another way, either through his personal spy network or by sending a hawk or a messenger.

 

Opening the scroll after deactivating its self-destructing seal, he was not surprised to find out that it was written in code, but he didn’t become a spymaster without memorizing the most used ones or learning a trick or two of his own.

 

His hopes of being informed about the mysterious ship that he had found a few weeks ago quickly faded though, as he skimmed through the message with ease. Apparently he was requested to go back to Konoha, since it had come to the Hokage’s attention that one of the recently captured prisoners was actually—

 

Jiraiya’s mind froze, his eyes widening as he kept staring at the message. For a few long minutes, he didn’t react at all. Not even when the scroll’s seal became active again, burning the paper to a crisp in his hands. Or when the innkeeper, his contact in this backwater town, started to give him strange looks.   
  
When he finally managed to snap out of it, he gulped the whole bottle in one go.

 

* * *

 

“This language…” Sven started, trying to find the right words.  
  
  
“Akavirian,” Beta proposed, glancing back from her book.  
  
  
“Nah, Ta’Sava thinks that ‘Akaviri’ could be applied to the people  _ and  _ the language,” the Khajit mused, although his confusion on the written words was clear. 

 

“No, it should be called ‘Akaviric’, I think. But still! This language doesn’t make sense,” Sven concluded with a sigh.

 

“Well… it  _ does _ sound complicated. The different alphabet sure doesn’t help,” Beta mumbled meekly.

 

“I don’t think it’s an alphabet,” Conrad grunted. “This seems like a glyph-based tongue.”

 

“Are you saying that each letter—”

 

“Glyph,” Conrad reminded sternly as he copied some of them on one of his notebooks.  
  
  
“—that each glyph has a different meaning?” Sven asked after correcting himself. “That sounds a bit inefficient and confusing, Master.”

 

“There are quite a few Tamrielic languages that used glyphs or runes, albeit they’re mostly extinct languages,” the Archmage in all but name reminded his students. Just as he had said that, the Blond Bastard erased the single symbol and started to write some new ones on the chalkboard and he noticed, much to his surprise, that he started on the top right of the chalkboard and worked his way down.

 

Why would he do that—

 

Much to his consternation, Conrad suddenly realized that the Akaviri wrote in the  _ wrong  _ direction. Why, only the Nine knew. But if they wrote that way, then they read that way as well, and—

 

With a sense of dread, Conrad checked the cover of his book. As he had been afraid after his realization, it was upside-down. He let out an exasperated groan, being fully aware of how he had spent the whole morning filling his notebook with glyphs that were not even correct. Bristling and muttering some curses, he shredded the pages he had just wasted.

 

* * *

 

Both genin impacted on the broken ground without getting up, one because of the blow he had just received, the other for the strain he had put on his body by pushing it beyond its limits.

 

Once the smoke started to set, everyone present was shocked to see that the Suna-nin strange technique had protected him once again, if just barely. Before Rock Lee could get up, he extended an arm and sand rushed against the taijutsu specialist, catching his left leg and arm.

 

Then Gaara squeezed, and Lee fell down with a pained scream and the sound of crunched bones.

 

Sand rushed over Lee, like giant hands wanting to crush him. 

 

A blur of green, and the sand around the genin’s body dispersed as if hit by a shockwave as the Green Beast of Konoha stood between his student and the murderous jinchuuriki, a harsh frown set on his face.

 

The match was over.

 

* * *

 

Click.

 

Lights on.

 

Click.  
  
  
Lights off.

 

Click.   
  


Lights on.

 

Click.   
  
  
Lights off.

 

Inoichi could feel his right eye twitch a bit, and only his years as a T&I interrogator helped him keep an impassive face. 

 

It had been twenty minutes since the generator and the shack’s basic electrical wiring had been working and operational, and the group of foreigners was still in awe by something as mundane as a light bulb. The cat-boy was still gleefully hitting the switch, while muttering and discussing along with the other teens, who were indicating either the cables or the switch or the bulb and making gestures and noises. 

 

Their… sensei, since there was no better term for it—seriously, had it not been for the obvious lack of shinobi training it would’ve seemed like this Harissen guy was in charge of a genin team or something like that—seemed to be less interested by the mysteries of something as mundane as lighting, limiting himself to scoff at his students and adding his own thoughts every once in a while. Under the gruff exterior though, Inoichi could see that the man was clearly amused and couldn’t help but wonder why he kept such a front. Maybe it was because of his—and the ANBU’s—presence. 

 

The lights flickered once again, and Inoichi forgot about the man’s personality, hidden or otherwise, and focused again on the whole group. If they were being so stunned because of a light bulb, what did that say about the place they were from? Especially if considering the…  _ handcrafted  _ nature of their clothes and equipment, Inoichi couldn’t help but wonder.

 

Maybe there wasn’t just a difference in the language between them, after all. He would have to speak to the Hokage about this—

 

“Hey,” Minato’s twin gruff voice called him, interrupting the Yamanaka’s line of thought.

 

“Yes, Harissen-san?” Inoichi asked, although he didn’t know why he bothered. The man didn’t seem to grasp the concept of honorifics, they actually seemed to confuse him, just like the idea of taking the shoes off before entering inside the shack after the short pauses in the lessons.

 

“Continue,” the foreigner said while frowning, as if he was trying to find the right words. “Lesson. Yes?”

 

Inoichi smiled faintly, before nodding. He had not taught them the word “lesson” yet.

 

* * *

 

"You fool!" Jiraiya yelled at Naruto, genuinely pissed by the kid's dissing of his novel. "I'm not just a pervert! Peeping gives me inspiration to write better—"

 

"Liar! What a lame excuse!" Naruto accused, flipping the bird at the Sannin. "Now what am I going to do about my training?"

 

"Training?" the Toad Sage asked, faking confusion at the sudden change of topic. "Are you talking about water walking?"

 

"You know about it?!" Naruto exclaimed excitedly, pointing a finger at Jiraiya with theatrical fare. "Then take responsibility and help me with my training!" 

 

"I hate disrespectful and rude brats!" Jiraiya all but howled to the poor genin, while inwardly he was grinning at the fact that Naruto had asked him to train him.

 

Just as planned.

 

* * *

 

Inoichi sat on the log that laid outside of the shack, beside his fellow blond. He didn’t know where the other man had got the log there under the vigilant ANBU watch, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. 

 

The teens had started to tidy up while being shadowed by two ANBU, while another one perched like a bird on the roof kept an eye to Konoha's most recent S-rank secret. Inoichi would bet that the others were still patrolling the forest.

 

“You know brother?” the stranger that had a way too familiar face asked suddenly. “Know Minato?”   
  


Inoichi hesitated for a few seconds. Of course, had it been  _ him _ the one that found out that he had a dead long-lost sibling, he would want to know as well. Still, he couldn’t tell him  _ everything _ , it was a matter of village security after all.

  
“Yes, Harissen-san. I  _ knew _ Minato.”

 

“Conrad. Name Conrad,” the man all but growled. Apparently, he didn’t like to be addressed in such a formal way. “You friends?” 

 

“Minato was a comrade at first, but… he was the one that kept all of us close when we were younger. It was impossible to not be his friend,” the Yamanaka said with a sad smile, reminiscing the old days of youth. Then he noticed the confused expression on the other man, and realized that he may have used too many words that were unfamiliar for him. “Yes, I was Minato’s friend.”

 

Conrad nodded, and looked away. A long and awkward silence descended on the shack, interrupted by the sounds of the teens doing the equivalent of a D-rank mission on their abode. 

 

“Tell me of Minato?” the man spoke again after a bit. “I never know him.” 

 

“Minato was—” the Yamanaka started, only to stop on his tracks when he realized that he couldn’t use too complex phrases. He really, really hoped that  _ that _ part of Minato’s planted memories would kick in faster, and soon. “Minato was a good man. A brilliant one, and as I said, friendly too. Even if he could be a bit silly sometimes, especially when he tried to come up with names for his new jutsu—”

 

“What?” the foreigner gruffly asked, arching an eyebrow.    
  
“Nevermind. I forgot that you are not familiar with the term, sorry,” Inoichi was curious about the jutsu that apparently had nothing to do with chakra, but with Harissen-san's limited vocabulary he had no idea how to ask so he opted to continue his tale about Minato. “He was also very loyal and… dedicated, I guess. After the war was over—”

 

“War?” The word had escaped Conrad’s lips more than being spoken. Inoichi almost tried to explain what a war was, but he could see from the man’s eyes that he knew  _ war _ . Maybe even more than one, judging by the look in his eyes.         
  
“Yes, there was a war, years ago. A big one.”   
  
“Minato is… was a warrior?” 

 

“I… suppose you could see it in that way, yes. A lot of us were, back then,” Inoichi said softly, remembering all the fallen friends and fellow shinobi lost in the conflict. “After the war was over, he became Hokage just like he had always dreamed. That’s the name of our leader, by the way.”

 

In hindsight, he found that the idea that Minato’s child had the same dream hilarious. And sad at the same time.

 

“ _ A jarl _ ?!” was the surprised question, along an unfamiliar word. “Minato was  _ jarl _ ?”  

 

“I… don’t know what a ‘jarl’ is, I’m afraid. But if that’s how you call your leaders, then yes.”

 

“Minato was jarl,” the man repeated with a snort. There was another pause before he spoke again. “How… he died?” 

 

“He… A… the village was attacked,” Inoichi said slowly, once again reflecting how to tell this without revealing anything compromising. He decided to follow Sandaime’s law and the official version of that night’s events. It was the right thing to do, but it still felt wrong somehow.  “A monster, the Kyuubi, attacked the village, and Minato—”

  
“A ‘monster’?” Minato’s twin asked, tilting the head at the unfamiliar word.

 

“Yes, a monster. A very strong beast?” he tried to explain. Harissen-san probably didn’t have an idea of what a bijuu was, though so he would probably not understand—

 

“You have monsters, here?” the other man asked, interrupting Inoichi’s thoughts. “Me see none, uh… walk here. No beasts, no monsters. Nothing. Weird.” 

 

“Travelling here? You didn’t see any monster travelling here?” 

 

“Yes. Home, more monsters. You travel, you find a lot,” Conrad smugly explained. How could someone be smug about such a thing, the Yamanaka had no idea. “Home is dangerous.”

 

“We have dangers, too. I assure you,“ he said, but the Yamanaka couldn’t help but secretly wonder what kind of creatures the man was talking about.

 

“Minato die… died,” Conrad said, correcting himself as he got a little more better in the spoken language. It seemed that Inoichi was right, after all. “Against the monster?”

 

“Sorry if we got a bit side-tracked. Yes, he died after killing the monster.”

 

“Monster dangerous?” the man asked, appearing genuinely curious. Inoichi didn’t respond immediately. After all, how do you explain what it feels to be in the presence of the powerful, malicious and hateful Nine-Tailed Fox, probably the most powerful being in the Elemental Nations? Especially when you can’t use too many words?

  
“The  _ most _ dangerous,” he simply replied. Somehow, it didn’t give it justice.

 

“Good death, then. He deserve Sovngarde,” Minato’s twin said glumly, and the foreign words utterly confused the Yamanaka. Maybe it was a word that the other blond wasn’t able to translate. “But Minato soul… trapped? Yes, gets trapped.”

 

“That’s a way to see it, I suppose—” Inoichi said, wincing at the reminder that his friend’s soul was probably suffering unspeakable tortures inside the Shinigami’s belly.

 

“Minato… had family?” the foreigner asked all of sudden, interrupting him. “A… woman? Anyone?”

 

“No!” the Yamanaka replied almost too quickly, before composing himself. “No, he didn’t have a family, I’m afraid. Do you have—”   
  
  
“No,” the man said. And there was enough regret and sorrow in that simple word that Inoichi kept himself from asking more.

 

Once again an uncomfortable silence fell on the clearing. It lasted longer than the first one, before the sound of something fragile broke from inside the shack, followed by two of the teens yelling at each other.

 

“Is there really a way to reach the Shinigami’s belly in your land?” Inoichi asked, changing topic.

 

“Shinigami?” Conrad asked, once again confused by the unknown word.

 

“Where Minato’s soul is,” the mind-walker clarified.    
  
“ _ Soul Cairn _ , yes. Went there. See… saw Minato there,” he nodded slowly. “Dangerous.”

 

“Dangerous?”

 

“You go there, you dead,” was the dead-panned reply.

 

“How… how are you still alive then?” Inoichi asked in confusion.

 

“I no know words to explain,” the man sighed with a frown. 

 

“Your land is very different, isn’t it?” the Yamanaka asked, changing the topic again. 

 

“Yes,” Conrad nodded.”No… lights, there. No ones you have.”

 

“You mentioned monsters, earlier. Did you fight a lot of them?” he asked, although he doubted—and hoped—that whatever creatures they had there could be compared to a bijuu.

 

“Yes. Many,” the man nodded with a glare. “And people.”

 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked if that makes you uncomfortable—”

 

“No. You have to. You—” the interruption died in Conrad’s throat with a groan. “I no know words to talk.”

 

“Why don’t you try anyway? You’ve made incredible progress for someone that didn’t even know our language a couple of weeks ago.”   
  
“Minato’s fault. No my… merit? Yes, merit.”

 

“That may be true, but it’s still remarkable,” Inoichi reassured. “Now, why don’t you try to explain it to me?”   
  
“Me think… you have to figure me. How me fight. How me think. What me want,” Conrad slowly said, turning towards Inoichi once more. “Figure if me dangerous.”

 

“I—”

 

“No know language, but not stupid.”

 

“I know you’re not. And, yes. You’re right. We don’t know what to do with you, or what would you want from us. That’s why we’re trying to find out.”

 

“You attack me first. You ask things, can’t answer. Enter my mind. You… remember me  _ things _ ,” Minato’s twin  _ growled _ , and Inoichi could swear that he saw his pupils shift and change shape for less than a second. What the hell happened in that city he had seen inside the man’s memory? “After you find Minato is brother, you want to talk.”

 

“We thought that someone was impersonating our  _ deceased _ Hokage!” Inoichi lashed out, albeit more because of his frustration than real malice. “And you were doing that strange jutsu that shot a storm of blue lights in the sky, which was tracking down the seals Minato left before dying, and only Minato could’ve known about them and—”

 

“Understood half what you say,” Conrad interrupted him with a deadpan stare. Inoichi grumbled a bit at that, massaging his temples.

 

“Look,” he started slowly. “You said that the… iarl is your leader, correct?” 

 

“Leader of city, yes,” the man nodded, gesturing towards the cliff and in Konoha’s direction.

 

“Good. Now, I want you to imagine this: years after a iarl died, a stranger arrives. He looks like the dead jarl. And he can’t talk your language—”   
  
“All Tamriel know language—”   
  
“Just imagine that he can’t talk your language, please,” the Yamanaka interrupted a bit too harshly than he would’ve wanted to. “What would you do?”

 

“Capture him,” Harissen-san finally admitted after a long reflection. “Find out truth.”

 

“See? You can’t say that we did anything wrong, given the situation.”   
  
“Is wrong for  _ me _ ,” the man scowled again. 

 

“Look, we’re stuck with each other whether you like it or not. The faster you speak fluently in my language, the sooner you’ll be able to talk with Hokage-sama, and your fate will be in his hands. So  _ suck it up _ .”

 

At that, instead of answering, the man opted to look away and mutter something in his harsh and hard-sounding tongue. Probably insults at the Yamanaka’s ancestry, but Inoichi wasn’t sure.

 

“Want something,” Conrad said after reflecting for a good minute. Inoichi arched an eyebrow at that. “Bring me… drink. No water. I tell you what you want know.”

 

* * *

 

Jiraiya could barely believe it. Yet, the living proof was standing right in front of him. 

 

Sure, technically the Sannin was hidden inside a particularly thick bush, masquerading his presence with all the little tricks in the book—and some of his own design, just to be sure, but that would’ve been nitpicking.

 

At mere meters from him, there was a man that could’ve passed for Minato, if Minato had lived to this day, showed more years than he should, got three nasty scars on one side of his face and had completely forgotten how to move like a shinobi and developed a beard fetish for some reason.

 

A twin. A genuine, clichéd long-lost identical twin from a far, far land beyond the sea, whose alliances or agenda was almost completely unknown. And to make it even better, Minato had sent him here to shed some light on the events behind the Kyuubi’s attack on the village.

 

Had it not been for all the evidence supporting this, Jiraiya would’ve called it a premise for a very bad novel. He should’ve known, he  _ lived _ on trashy novels. Not that he didn’t like to write porn, but at the start of his literary career, he had hoped to write something more—

 

The man’s head snapped from the book he had been reading and looked straight into Jiraiya’s direction. Surprised, the Sannin immediately substituted himself with a small toad that he had left behind, just in case.

 

He couldn’t help but smile. Either he was going soft, or Minato’s brother was sharp. 

 

A part of Jiraiya wanted to get out of his hiding place and just go to talk to the man, but he knew better. Besides the fact that from what he had been told this… Conrad was not exactly a proficient conversationalist, he had wasted enough time by satisfying his curiosity. Orochimaru was still at large, probably around or even  _ inside  _ the village, and he had to train Naruto for the upcoming match with the Hyuuga.

 

He waited until the man decided that his book was much more interesting than whoever may hide in the bushes—probably thinking that it was just one of the ANBU that patrolled all around the shack—and silently left, having made up his mind to know the brother only after he had ensured that Minato’s son would survive the chunin exams.

 

* * *

 

Inoichi gazed over the table, feeling a little bit of pride at his brilliance. The lessons had progressed swiftly lately, especially since Harissen had started to correct his younger companions every now and then. Their grasp on the more advanced aspects of the language was still…  _ lacking _ , but it was a progress.

 

So, to encourage them to apply what they had learned, he had decided to treat them with a home-cooked dinner at their lodgings. Thank goodness for the generator otherwise they would’ve been forced to eat with candlelights. 

 

There was a rule, though: they were forbidden to speak in their own native language. After all, the aim was making them more comfortable with a tongue they were unfamiliar with during a social event. The fact that they were seemingly enjoying his cooking was a welcome bonus, even if it was just some rice with fish and veggies. 

 

Sadly, making them use the chopsticks correctly turned out to be quite impossible—

 

“Please, uh, can Ta’Sava have more?” the cat-boy suddenly asked, the already empty bowl in his hands—or was “paws” a more correct term here? Whatever the case, he seemed really insatiable. 

 

“You mean ‘Please, may  _ I  _ have some more’,” Inoichi corrected him patiently.   
  
“Yes. What Ta’Sava say,” the feline said, clearly confused by the Yamanaka’s explanation.

 

“No, you don’t have to say your name every time, you can just—”   
  
“Forget it,” Conrad interrupted him. “He not stopping.”

 

“But—”  
  
  
“Normal for him,” the other blond explained with a shrug. “No worry.”

  
“Forgive me if I ask, I don’t want to be rude but… is it normal?” Inoichi asked in a whisper, getting closer to Minato’s twin. The man looked puzzled, and glanced at Ta’Sava, who was more interested into gouging down another portion of fish.  
  
  
“Started eating more. Before he not,” the man mumbled, as if he had just noticed that. 

 

“Uh, no I meant his appearance,” the Yamanaka whispered again. “What he looks like.”

 

"What? Ta'Sava dirty?" the cat-like teen asked as he stopped eating, having apparently heard everything Inoichi had said. He glanced at his two peers with a confused frown. "What wrong Ta'Sava?"  

 

“Bothing wrong with Ta’Sava,” the girl immediately reassured gently.

 

“ _ Nothing _ wrong, Beta,” Conrad corrected. “Not ‘bothing’.”

 

"I meant his... peculiar features,” Inoichi clarified once for all, not bothering to whisper since it seemed that Ta’Sava would hear it anyway. “Is it because of a bloodline limit?" 

 

The question was met by a long, stunned silence, along with various degrees of confusion and arched eyebrows.

 

"What is blood... line?" Beta asked, trying to grasp the new word. 

 

"It's..." Inoichi trailed off, actually wondering how to explain it simply. "It's a power or ability passed down in a family."

 

"Oh. No, Ta’Sava not has blood-line," the grey cat said, as if simply stating a fact, much to the shinobi’s confusion. How else would those feline features be explained if not—

 

"Ta'Sava is Khajiit," Conrad said, understanding being hearable in his voice.

 

"A what?" 

 

"Khajiit. Beast-people... race. No human. Different people."

 

"Not... human?" Inoichi asked, studden by this development. While it explained why the DNA tests made on the feline teen were inconclusive, it still made his head spin a little. "How is that possible?"

 

"It just is... ?" the kid that had seemed strangely interested when he prepared the dish—Sven, if he remembered correctly—stated, apparently confused by how this could confuse Inoichi.

 

"You have no... different people?” Beta asked softly. “Only humans?"

 

"No, as far as I know there are no other... races, among the nations,” Inoichi replied. Sure, there were a lot of strange creatures in the Elemental Nations, but none that could be considered intelligent as a person. Those were just fairy tales and legends, remnants of a more superstitious age…

 

Just like dragons.

 

"Explains people look you weird, Ta'Sava," the gruff man scoffed, before going back to his dinner.

 

"Is blood-line... good?" Ta'Sava asked with a pensive expression. Not sure how to answer to that, given how differently bloodlines were perceived around the countries, the Yamanaka opted to nod. After all, Konoha  _ loved _ its bloodlines. "Conrad-sensei have one, then!"

 

There was a choking sound, and rice grains flew everywhere as Inoichi looked in shock at the man that was struggling to breathe besides him. Was Harissen Conrad really in possession of an unknown doujutsu, like Ibiki had said?

 

"Not from family,” the foreigner managed to say between one cough and the other, resuming only when it calmed down. “Not blood limit. Is... different thing."

 

"Then, what is it?" Inoichi inquired, eager to hear the man’s explanation.

 

"Power... from soul. No sure how to explain," Conrad sheepily said, ruffling his own hair in a way that caused Inoichi to flinch. It was the same annoying habit that Minato used to have. 

 

"Sensei is... uh... big... thing?" Ta'Sava mumbled, clearly unable to explain with his limited vocabulary.

 

"Sensei is... good person? No, that not right word,” Sven guessed, before quickly backtracking. “Conrad-sensei is important... story?”

 

"Not a story. More than story," Beta declared with a large smile, her shyness apparently forgotten. She had even straightened up, suddenly proud for some reason.

 

"More than a story... ? Do you mean that he is famous?" Inoichi guessed, remembering that he would’ve to teach them more words in the future lessons.

 

"What is famous?" Minato’s brother asked.

 

"It means being celebrated, renowned, having a widespread and generally favorable reputation, and—" the Yamanaka started, only to start again with a dumbed down explanation. "It means that people like him and talk about him."

 

"Yes, sensei is famous—" the cat-boy exclaimed in a hurry, only to be interrupted by his teacher. 

 

"No all like me, Ta'Sava," Conrad grumbled.

 

"What are you famous for, exactly?” Inoichi inquired further, hoping to find one more piece in the puzzle.

 

"Conrad-sensei has... big... thing that... in soul? No, for soul!" Ta'Sava answered in his teacher’s place, which earned him a glare that went completely unnoticed because of his enthusiasm.

 

"Something in his soul?" the mind-walker wondered in confusion, glancing to the other man.

 

"Something big, that do this!" Ta'Sava continued his explanation, flopping his arms frantically.

 

"Big thing that... fire? Fire, yes. Something with fire,” the other boy frowned, clearly unsure how to continue. ”And things."

 

Inoichi could feel the color flee his face as he connected the dots, remembering what had transpired inside the man’s mind. Slowly, he met Conrad’s apparently impassive gaze, but considering the tightened jaw, Inoichi could see that he was not pleased by the matter that was being discussed.

 

"And he travel and... and stuff?" the girl stopped, apparently unsure how to continue the tale. “No sure what sensei  _ does _ —”

 

“Dinner is over,” Conrad suddenly said, stopping the discussion altogether. “Clean up? Yes?”

 

"But—"

 

"Clean. Up," the man repeated, sternly. With a huff, the teenagers started to gather the now empty plates, apparently used to their teacher’s borderline rude behaviour. 

 

Said teacher, instead, grabbed one of the sake bottles that Inoichi had brought with him and with a great stride left the shack, not before looking back at Inoichi, as if to invite him to follow. He did so, giving one last glance at the kids as they retrieved some water from a barrel to wash the dirty dishes—Inoichi really hoped that they could get running, heated water soon but apparently there was some problem with installing the plumbing.

 

The fresh night air welcomed him, and he found Minato’s brother sitting on the same log of the previous day, right under the only light outside the house. Apparently he was not enjoying the sake, given the grim faces he was making, but he was still gulping it down like it was water.

 

Alcoholism, perhaps? He really didn’t want to rush a psychiatric profile, but his gut was telling him that Harissen Conrad was a man well-versed in drowning his sorrows, among other things.

  
The Yamanaka sat on the other side of the log, as the man gagged again. Seriously, what was wrong with sake anyway?

 

"You have some unusual power, but it's not a bloodline," he simply said, just stating the fact.

 

"Yes," Conrad confirmed with a nod.

 

"Can you explain?" Inoichi asked, studying the foreigner’s reaction. Had he been a Konoha citizen, asking such a thing would’ve been incredibly rude. Shinobi of every standing were really jealous of their personal techniques and their inner workings. You just  _ didn’t _ ask about that stuff, but Inoichi knew he had to.

 

“No secret. Everyone home knows," Conrad shrugged instead, unknowingly defying centuries of shinobi tradition. Inoichi really hoped that his expression didn’t show how appalled he was, and started asking questions.

 

"Is the dragon I saw in your mind the source of your power?" 

 

"That how you say it? 'Dragon'?" the foreigner mumbled, apparently amused about having learned that word.

 

"Is it?" Inoichi questioned again.

 

"Yes, but… no. Maybe? Not sure what you see,” Conrad spoke slowly, frowning deeply. “Words are problem. No sure how to explain, but dragon is… not source. Other dragon are.”

 

“Other dragons?” the mind-walker hastily asked, remembering well the enormous skeletons he had seen days ago, inside the man’s mind.

 

“Yes. Dragons are source. But it is no power… is duty,” the man slowly said, stopping only to take one more sip from the bottle. “Burden, even.”

 

“A burden?” Inoichi asked, his eyes widening a fraction. He didn’t like the sound of it. It reminded him too much about how the Sandaime described Uzumaki Naruto’s… condition.

 

“Sometimes,” Conrad nodded, before meeting Inoichi’s eyes. Even with the dim light, the Yamanaka could have sworn that they had become slitted for less than a second. “No asked for this.”

 

The shinobi silently stared at the other man for a long time, reflecting on what he had learned so far. He didn't have to be in the man's head to realize that the man's thoughts were taking a dark turn, and judging by the memories he'd seen earlier and how his subconscious reacted to reliving them, that definitely wasn't a good idea. As for the man's "power", he was pretty sure that he was at a dead end until Conrad gained a better grasp of their language. Considering that for all he knew it could've been anything from some weird bloodline to a sealed bijuu, there was no way they could ask for a demonstration.

 

"Say, Harissen-san, your... students," Inoichi asked, trying to distract the foreigner from the dark thoughts that were festering in his mind.

 

"What about them?" Conrad asked, throwing away the empty bottle as far as he could. The Yamanaka had to resist the urge to reprimand him for littering.

 

"They seem a bit... untrained. Not good at fighting," he said, adding the last bit when he saw a confused frown forming on the other man's face. Inoichi tactfully forgot to mention the fact that even a genin could probably beat them, though.

 

"Of course. They kids. Too young for that. They... huh... no know word... place where you learn things?" 

 

“That could either be a school, or the Academy?”   
  
“What is difference?”

 

“Well, in a school you learn… normal stuff, I guess? While in the academy you learn how to control your chakra, channel it to create jutsu with the use of handsigns, and—”

 

“You people use those words. I no know what they mean.”   
  
“Magic,” Inoichi quickly said, deciding to dumb down the description about handsigns, chakra, elements and jutsu the most he could. “They learn to do magic at the academy. Among fighting and… other skills.”

 

"What is magic?"

 

"Magic is... doing things that are otherwise impossible," the Yamanaka stated after a little thought. 

 

"Oh. Like this?" the man asked, comprehension dawning on his face. He flickered his left hand and much to Inoichi’s shocked surprise, a small light no bigger than a firefly but bright as the light bulb on the shack’s wall started to levitate in front of him. How was it possible, since the seals on his manacles should keep sucking his chakra dry?! "I do magic. Kids too. Learned at Winterhold Academy."

 

The shinobi studied the small light, weirded out by how… off it felt. Not because he had an apparently harmless light floating just beside him, but because he couldn’t feel any chakra emanating from it. He felt  _ something _ , but it felt empty, like an echo… whatever it was, it wasn’t chakra. Furthermore, he had not felt any chakra being used by Harissen-san as he used the jutsu—Inoichi wasn’t sure if it should be classified as a ninjutsu or genjutsu—and on top of it the man had done it without handsigns at all! That was just unheard of!

 

“Winterhold Academy?” he asked, hiding his confusion as best as he could. If there was a place that taught such things, asking questions about it was a wise move to find out about Harissen Conrad’s allegiances.    
  
“Old place. A cold place. Teach magic, lot people come to study. Learn magic there,” was the brief description.

 

“Wait, you mean that… you let people come and learn freely?” the mind-walker asked, this time not bothering to keep his composure.

 

“Of course. If them deserve to learn,” Conrad answered, like it was a matter of fact. Inoichi could feel his head spin a little. A place where everyone could just show up and be taught ‘magic’, no matter where they were from… such a thing was utterly alien to him, even if apparently they had some criteria when it came to selecting students. 

 

“What—what about your students?” he asked, saying the first thing that came to mind. “Where do they come from?”   
  
“Me think Beta come from Solitude—city of Skyrim, big one,” Conrad quickly explained as Inoichi got confused by the foreign word… only to be confused by  _ another _ one. Although he could bet that ‘Skyrim’ was a nation of some kind. Nations had cities, after all. “Ta’Sava is… maybe from Khajiit caravan? And Sven… I no idea where Sven come from. He Imperial, can be anywhere.”

 

“You don’t even know where your students are from? … that sounds a bit irresponsible.”

 

“Never was responsible man,” the other blond snorted, crossing his arms. Although there was a trace of sadness in his voice.

 

“Why did you accept them, then?” Inoichi couldn’t help but ask, genuinely intrigued. 

 

“Had to. Was forced to teach. Them and entire… group? Mob? Pack?”   
  
“Class?” the Yamanaka proposed, although he couldn’t really imagine Harissen Conrad teaching anything to a—

 

“That right. Me teach them and entire class of kids when I came back to Academy, after years.”

 

“Years away?” he asked, intrigued. Was this normal for this Winterhold place, or had Minato’s brother a special permission, like the Sannin did? “How many?”   
  
“Eight. Almost nine. Went there to… study what Minato gave me,” Conrad said, tapping a finger against his temple. “Then left. Here I am.”

 

“The memories?”

 

“No, them came later. First it was… uh… what take me here.”

 

“I’ve read the report of what happened with Anko and Ibiki,” Inoichi said, noting how his colleagues’ names seemed to irritate Conrad. “They mentioned that you traced a seal during the interrogation. Do you know about it?”

 

“No. I no even know what  _ seal _ is… means nothing to me,” the man said, and Inoichi inwardly sighed in relief. Harissen Conrad didn’t know the Hiraishin no Jutsu. The Hokage would be glad to know that.

 

“Say, if you know that your students are not trained or… too young, as you said, how come you took them with you?”

 

"No take them. They hide in ship," Conrad said gruffly. "Me still angry."

 

"I see," Inoichi deadpanned. He had read Jiraiya’s report too of course. Normally he wouldn’t have, but since he was being assigned to this mission it had been necessary, and he was really happy that dealing with a ship full of foreigners stuck in a hostile nation was not  _ his  _ job. “You thought that the voyage could be too dangerous for them.”

 

“Yes, but… not just that,” Conrad said, peaking Inoichi’s interest. “Dangerous for them… being with me.”

 

“Why would you—You’re afraid of hurting them? With your ‘power’?”

 

“What? No! Me  _ care _ for them, you dumb… dumb!” Conrad almost yelled, visibly flustered. If it was because of what he had just admitted, his lame attempt to insult him or both, Inoichi didn’t know. “Other people… enemies? Yes, enemies. Them would hurt them, to hurt me. Like you threaten to do,” he finished darkly, sparing the shinobi a glance.

 

“Well… I doubt that your enemies could do something to them here. Don’t you agree?” Inoichi asked trying to cheer up his friend’s brother. The only reaction he got was half a smile, half a snort.

 

"Minato have enemies, yes?" he asked after a short silence, much to Inoichi’s bewilderment. For not being a shinobi, he was good at seeing underneath the underneath. 

 

"Yes, he did," Inoichi admitted. No reason to hide that, after all.

 

"You keep me here to hide from them,” Conrad merely stated, his tone strangely neutral. 

 

"Partly, yes. Should they know that you are around, they would mistake you for Minato and even come to attack us just to get to you. Should they know you're just his brother—"

 

"They come after only me," the foreigner finished for him. 

 

"Yes. In a way, we're protecting you."

 

"No need protection,” Conrad growled, frowning at him. “Me Dovahkiin. Me can  _ fight _ ."

 

"I'm sure you are," Inoichi slowly said, hesitating in front of the unknown word. If that’s how the four guests felt, it was surely irritating. "But even if you're a skilled warrior, or... dovakin or whatever you are, you would still be unable to defend yourself from a shinobi, especially if they prepare for it—"

 

"Give magic-man time to prepare, you no stop him," the self-proclaimed ‘magic man’ said smugly, sure of his words. Inoichi had to muster all his will to not laugh at the ridiculous appellative. Maybe it was a bad attempt to translate the word ‘dovakin’?

 

"Shinobi are still faster," he countered, trying to appeal to reason. After all, they  _ had  _ captured him.

 

"Then I slow them," Conrad counter-countered with a shrug. 

 

"Slow them? How?" the shinobi asked, not really believing that such a thing could happen.

 

"Magic," the other blond said with an evil grin. “Dragon magic.”

 

"Look, this is getting us off topic and I don't want to discuss about who would win," Inoichi said with a groan.

 

“Because me would,” Conrad quickly replied.

 

“Keep telling yourself that,” the Yamanaka muttered. ”Now—”

 

“Want to ask for something,” the man interrupted him. 

 

"What else do you want?" he asked, rolling his eyes. Harissen-san didn’t answer immediately, instead he glanced briefly towards the shack. Apparently, the teens had finished cleaning up and were now talking and joking in their native tongue.

 

"Want to teach them, Inoichi," the ‘dovakin’ firmly said, looking straight into the shinobi’s eyes. 

 

For a long moment, neither of the two man said anything, both holding their breath: one because he hoped for an answer, the other because he was afraid to give it.

 

"No," Inoichi flatly told him. The village couldn’t allow the ‘magic-man’ to freely throw jutsu, even if it was to train his students. 

 

"Them must learn," Conrad argued, his tone starting to be filled by anger. “You say it, them are untrained.”

 

"It's not my decision, Harissen-san—"

 

"Conrad,” he hissed, clearly still not liking being addressed so formally. “Call me Conrad." 

 

"It's not my decision, Harissen-san!” Inoichi snapped. “And we can't let you throw fireballs or lightning around, do you understand that?"

 

"Can teach different things! Lots of things, no fighting, still good. Useful," Conrad said, sounding like he was really, really trying to push through the meager vocabulary with brute force. "Healing. Book things. Changing... stuff. Bottle... things!" 

 

“Bottle things?” Inoichi muttered, confused by the choice of words. Then realization hit him as if a switch had been turned on inside his brain. “Do you mean the contents of those bottles we found on you?”   
  
“No,  _ other _ lot bottles me had,” Conrad deadpanned, the sarcasm dripping from his words. “What you think?” 

 

“How do you make those liquids, anyway?” he asked. The Hokage and the scientific division seemed to be very curious and confused by them respectively.   
  
“Bit like… cooking. Only not. You see,” the other man assured with a sly smile. For the life of him, the Yamanaka couldn’t see something that had been compared to cooking being dangerous, especially if they showed the process with the ANBU watching them like hawks. It would kill two birds with a stone, Harissen Conrad would be satisfied and the Sandaime would get some answers. 

 

“I will ask the Hokage,” Inoichi sighed. “No promises, though.”   
  
“We need something,” Conrad added, failing to express any gratitude. The bastard.

 

“What is it this time?”   
  
  
“Ingredients.” 

 

* * *

 

"Hn... where is this—" Naruto tiredly asked immediately after regaining consciousness. 

 

"Get up," Jiraiya ordered, not giving the kid time to register his surroundings. 

 

"W-what?" he asked, still barely on his feet.

 

"The training ends today... if you don't want to die then figure it out yourself," the Sannin said, before flicking Naruto's forehead with enough strength to make the genin stumble a few meters behind. 

 

Just enough to fall into the ravine.

 

Jiraiya really, really hoped that Minato would forgive him for this.

 

* * *

 

The small kitchen and dining room area had been turned into a sort of makeshift laboratory, as the four inhabitants of the shack trafficked between pots, alembics, and mortar and pestles, carefully pulverizing ingredients and reagents and adding them to the boiling mixtures. The chalkboard that had been used for the language lessons was full of instructions and lists in the foreigners’ language, and the kids would glance at it every once in a while before proceeding with their work.

 

The ANBU were carefully surveying the scene of course, along with a chunin from the archives that was documenting everything he could. Inoichi, instead, was more interested in watching Harissen Conrad.   
  
Who was seemingly focused on the task of eating a flower from the ones that Inoichi had brought from his family’s shop, among other things. Chewing it, slowly munching it, eyes half-closed like he was trying to understand every detail of the little flower’s flavour, searching for…  _ something _ .

 

“This is good for, urhm… green one,” he finally said to his students, spitting the chewed petals’ remains. Even if the instructions had been written in their language, they couldn’t speak it. That way the demonstration served two purposes: giving them more familiarity with the local tongue and showing off their skills. 

 

“What is the ‘green one’ for?” Inoichi asked, turning towards the foreigner. 

 

“It help if you tired,” Conrad said, pausing to think about what words to use. Minato’s memories surely did miracles in the last weeks but learning a language was still a slow process, of course. “You feel… rested, after you drink it.”

 

“Sounds like a liquid soldier pill,” the desk-nin muttered while taking a few notes. “Is there any side-effect?”

 

“Side…?” Conrad asked, clearly confused.

 

“Is it dangerous to drink?” the Yamanaka clarified for him.

 

“No. If you no fill whole stomach. Or drink too different ones."

 

"Why is that?" the mind-walker asked.

 

"May cause… reaction. Inside you,” the Yondaime’s brother explained, pointing at his own stomach.

 

"Not a good thing," Sven added, grimacing at the thought.

 

"What happens to you if one of these 'reactions' happens inside your stomach?" the chunin piped-in, leaning closer to the table. Conrad opened his mouth and immediately closed it, apparently unsure how to explain it.

 

"Result may vary," he finally said with a mirthless snort.

 

"Seriously?" Inoichi asked. That was surely not the explanation he was hoping for.

 

"Dozens on dozens of effects. Mixing with no sense in a person. Try guess," Conrad quickly said meeting his eyes with a hard stare. 

 

"Alright, but why don’t you give us an example?” the Yamanaka encouraged.

 

“May hurt you. Make you sick… not work at all. Or…”  
  
  
“Or...?”

 

"Saw man drink seven different ones. Stomach exploded,” Conrad deadpanned. The kids grimaced at the thought, or at the tone their teacher had used.

 

Inoichi glanced over as the chuunin's face lit up and he quickly scribbled the detail down. He would bet that the scientific division would probably try to weaponize such a thing as an assassination weapon.

 

"But them good for you if you careful!" 

 

"What if you're in a hurry and you accidentally drink the wrong one? What then?"

 

"Made mistake a few times. You learn not to. Keep them organized."

 

"What about the red one?" Inoichi gestured to the one that the girl, Beta, was carefully pouring in a vial. “What does it do?”

 

"That one heal you."

 

“Heal you? So it’s a cure for some sickness? Which one?” the other shinobi asked.

 

“Sickness… ? No, no. It heal you,” Conrad repeated. “Stop blood, close wound… ?”

 

“So it helps the body to heal?” the chunin inquired. “How quickly?”

 

“Lot quickly, most common kind,” the man immediately guaranteed, to which Inoichi and the chunin exchanged a perplexed stare.

 

“That’s just impossible,” the desk-nin said disbelievingly.

 

"No, is truth," Conrad countered, frowning at the statement like it was an accusation.

 

"Harissen-san, surely you must realize how ridiculous that sounds,” Inoichi tried to reason. “To heal quickly just by drinking something?"

 

"Beta, is it ready?" the other blond asked without looking at the girl.

 

"Huh?” the teen mumbled in surprise. “Yes I think so but why—"

 

Without even waiting for the girl to finish her question, Conrad took his hand and bit at the edge of his palm with a swift crunch, his face tightening against the pain. 

 

Every shinobi in the room, even the observing chuunin immediately fell into combat-ready stances, startled by the sudden gesture as well-ingrained training kicked in at the sight of blood. The magelings flinched at the obviously hostile postures and looked to Conrad for guidance, but other than that he made no motions to them, still chewing his own hand instead. They opted to try to look the least signficant as possible and held their breath.

 

"Harissen-san!” Inoichi exclaimed. “What are you  _ doing _ ?!"

 

Conrad drew his dripping hand away, and gestured for Beta to hand him the phial. He took it from the girl’s shaking hands and downed the contents with a single gulp. 

 

Much to Inoichi's awe, the wound started to mend itself, one stratum at a time, until the skin closed like a curtain. leaving only a small smear of blood on an otherwise untouched hand the only sign that the wound had even been there.

 

"No scar," Conrad said, approvingly. "Good, Beta. Good. Still tastes bad."

 

"Sensei please no do that!" Beta yelled, finally getting over her panic. 

 

"Inoichi-san, what's he—" the chunin mumbled, only to be interrupted by Inoichi’s awed voice.

 

"This is going to change everything about field medicine..."

 

"Really? Simple thing back home,” Conrad shrugged, and the Yamanaka couldn’t help but wonder how such a miraculous thing had been developed in a land without electricity. “Better for little wounds. Bad ones... you need healer."

 

"This is simple?!” the chuunin exclaimed, flabbergasted. “How many of these brews do you have in your homeland?" 

 

"Many. I write list," the foreigner said. Inoichi couldn’t help but think that men would’ve killed to have that list. And here he was, offering it to them without a second thought, like it was common knowledge… maybe it was, in Harissen Conrad's homeland. If only he knew that entire wars could be waged over such a 'discovery'. Droves of shinobi would gladly bleed and die for any chance to give their village an edge or to keep it secret. And this? This was no mere edge. This was a new tool altogether. Foreign, unknown, and powerful.

 

Even the daimyo would have demanded it, for his subjects and his armies.

 

"Keep going, you three. Check ingredients before use," Conrad said, putting the empty vial on the table and completely unaware of what he may have done. "One more hour."

 

"I think I've heard enough about how brews and tonics are prepared for now," the chunin giddily declared. "Inoichi-san? If you would...."

 

"Harissen-san?" Inoichi called, getting a scroll out of his flak jacket as he  took a step towards the man. "Inside this scrolls there are some of your bottled... tonics, I guess. We would like to know what they do."

 

"No call me that—What?” Conrad said in confusion, interrupting yet another attempt to correct Inoichi about his name. “Inside scroll?"

 

"You... don't have sealing scrolls in your land, do you?" the blond shinobi asked, finding it ironic that such a place could have incredibly advanced healing—and who knew what else—but still lack one of the most common and used sealing techniques.

 

"We have... Old Scrolls, me guess,” the man said, caressing his beard. “And small ones with magic. No ‘sealing’ scrolls."

 

"Allow me, then," Inoichi said, placing the scroll on the ground and opening it, revealing the standard seal traced onto it. A couple of hand seals later, and a pile of items appeared on the scrolls with a flash of smoke. 

 

On the paper surface laid a perfectly organized small collection of glass vials and small bottles, their contents of various colours but the blue and red ones being the most common.

 

Inoichi turned to face Minato's brother again, only to see the man all but lunge to a brownish bottle.

 

"Me afraid lost it!" Conrad yelled, apparently filled with joy.

 

"Is that an important one?" Inoichi asked, wondering what could make the man react like this.

 

" _ Most _ important! No like sake you give me," 

 

"Not like the sake? ... that's just cheap alcohol?" the Yamanaka asked unamused. Maybe he  _ should _ evaluate Harissen Conrad as an alcoholic in an eventual psychological profile.

 

"No, you shame of Nord! It's—"

 

"What is a Nord?" Inoichi asked.

 

"Me is Nord! Man from Skyrim. Your ancestors too, I bet."

 

"That doesn't make sense, Harissen-san,” Inoichi tried to reason. “My family always lived in Fire Country."

 

"You have Nord blood in you, or me no Dovahkiin," Conrad just scoffed.

 

"I am Nord, too!" Beta said from the table, shyly raising her hand. 

 

"Is  _ mead _ . Best drink ever!” the man continued, reprising the praise of the beverage. “You should taste, and—"

 

"I can't drink on the job, Harissen-san,” Inoichi interrupted him. “What is it made from, anyway?"

 

"Honey, of course!"

 

"Honey? Harissen-san, I never heard of a liquor made of honey."

 

A sudden silence fell on the room, the noise of ingredients being grinded, mixed or otherwise processed ceasing all of sudden. Inoichi wasn't sure why he glanced up at first, but then he realized that it was because the magelings had gone absolutely still and wide-eyed. As had Conrad.

 

He couldn't help but look at the man's haunted expression. It was like looking at a veteran sporting the mile-wide stare, a child who had been robbed of his candies, and a kicked dog all rolled in one.   

 

"Conrad-sensei...?" Ta'Sava called all of sudden in a worried tone.

 

"No now, Ta'Sava,” the desperate man replying with an empty voice. “Please."

 

"Conrad-sensei!" the Khajiit repeated, exchanging glances between his teacher and his tools.

 

_ "What?!?"  _ Conrad yelled at the top of his lungs, much like someone who had been disturbed during a mourning.

 

"Is it normal?" the young Khajiit asked, indicating the thick purple smoke that was emanating from his alambic. 

 

Inoichi almost grabbed Conrad as the man suddenly ran towards the other end of the small room, but when he realized that he had an arm stretched towards the appliance, the man’s words about unexpected reactions came back to mind and he quickly grabbed Beta and Sven’s collar sleeves and forced them to step back from the table.

 

Conrad only managed to pull Ta’Sava away before the alambic exploded.

 

* * *

 

The man kept looking outside of the window which offered a good view of the village he had grown in. If in his heart he felt any nostalgia for those simpler times, he didn't show it. And even if he had felt it, he would've squashed it under his hate.

 

He looked away, and placed the large hat, so similar to the one he had once desired, on the desk besides him. The hotel suite wasn't incredibly large but it was considered fancy enough for a honored guest as him.

 

Well, at least for the man whose identity he'd stolen.

 

“You fool,” he said without looking back towards the door. “Do you know how risky it is to meet as our plans are already in motion?” 

 

“I am very aware,  _ ‘Kazekage-dono’ _ ,” his spy’s voice replied, a sort of dark sarcasm filling the last words.

 

“Why are you here then?” Orochimaru asked, turning towards his apprentice and best agent.

 

“I came across some information that you may want to hear,” the bespectacled shinobi said with a smirk.

 

“If you mean the identity of the Iwa team’s kunoichi, I am well aware of that. Even then,  you should’ve given it to your contact among my forces,” the fallen Sannin said in a hard tone, not breaking his character in case one of the Suna shinobi that were guarding the area reserved for ‘his’ entourage decided to eavesdrop. “Coming straight to me was unwise.”

 

“Aah, as expected of Kazekage-dono,” Kabuto said, but Orochimaru could tell that he had not expected that at all. “Should I refer to my master what are your intentions, then?” 

 

Which was a way to ask for specific orders, of course. Orochimaru looked again outside of the window. In a matter of days, Konoha’s peaceful streets would be filled with shinobi clashing against each other, the screams of the wounded and the bodies of the fallen, and the Ichibi rampaging through its buildings. This thought pleased him, and a creepy grin spread through his burrowed face.  

 

The invasion's objective was simple. Kill Sarutobi and cause as much damage as possible to the village's shinobi forces and infrastructures. One didn’t just  _ conquer  _ a shinobi village: too many problems between the nation’s regular military or the guerrilla tactics that the surviving inhabitants could employ. You  _ destroyed _ villages instead, forcing the nation to ask for the shinobi’s  _ specialized _ services from outside of its own borders. 

 

The perspective of prosperity for his own village had been the selling point when it had come to seal the deal and convince the Kazekage to agree to this bold plan… before killing him, of course.

 

A plan though, no matter how good, never survived first contact with the enemy. Especially such a large-scale one. Sarutobi taught him that, and he had seen how true that was. 

 

The invasion  _ was  _ a risky move and it  _ could  _ fail. Only a fool would think otherwise. Too many key elements were out of his control, especially their trump card, Suna's jinchuuriki. 

 

The boy was not stable, and even his sensei had seemed unable to keep him in check lately. The Kazekage, the real one, had been a fool to not  _ fix  _ the problem. Not that he had not tried, from what he had heard, but the man's attempts against his own son's life had been sloppy and inefficient, at best.

 

And during the last month, he'd heard worrying rumors of Jiraiya's return. To train the son of his former pupil, the sentimental fool!

 

He was still a potentially dangerous opponent, and a very valuable asset to Konoha's forces.

 

The result of the invasion could be less certain than his followers and the Suna-nin thought. Should the Leaf survive the assault, though... the girl, the Tsuchikage's granddaughter, could be a valuable pawn.

 

After all, accidents happened during a battle. Nobody would know who had thrown the kunai, and Iwa would never believe Konoha's innocence. And then they would finish off the weakened village.

 

All in all, a good contingency plan. No matter what, Konoha would fall.

 

"I will send a word to you," Orochimaru said without looking back at his spy. "Now, begone!" 

 

"Wouldn't you want to know why Iwa is showing such an interest into Konoha right now, though?" Kabuto said with a sly smile. "I found something interesting while browsing the more recent hospital archives. The highly secured ones."

 

Orochimaru turned back towards his minion, slightly arching an eyebrow. Kabuto was being insolent, but he probably had a reason to. 

 

Without saying a word. the double-agent took a scroll out of his pouch and passed it to his master. The snake wearing the Kazekage’s skin opened it, and for a long time there was absolute silence in the room.

 

Then, a single word escaped Orochimaru’s mouth, carrying as much venom as he could.

 

“...  _ Namikaze… _ ”

 

* * *

  
  
_ Wake up. _   
  
_ He is close. Wake up! _

 

Conrad stirred, disturbed by the words resounding in his dream. Opening his eyes, he saw an unknown white ceiling above him.

 

Still half-asleep and aching, he realized how much he distrusted Akavir. Since he had arrived in this gods-forsaken lands, he had been knocked out  _ way _ more times than he felt he deserved.

 

“Hey, he’s awake!” a voice exclaimed in Cyrodilic. Conrad heard the sounds of feet getting closer to his bed, because of course he was on a bed. Raising his head, he saw the magelings standing around him, their expressions a mix of relief and worry.

 

“Welcome back, Master,” Beta said, offering him a glass of water.

 

“Where am I?” he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before accepting it.

 

“It’s some big building where they heal people, but it doesn’t look like a temple to me,” Sven explained. “They have a lot of weird things here,  _ way _ weirder than those light-orbs they use.”

 

“Ta’Sava is sorry for what happened, Master!” the Khajiit apologized, his ears turned back.  “Ta’Sava didn’t realize that he had put the wrong reagent in the boiling solution! It’s Ta’Sava’s fault if—”   
  
“Are you three alright?” he questioned, interrupting his feline student. At this, the three kids exchanged a few confused glances.

 

“Uh, yes we are fine, Master,” Beta replied. “The explosion wasn’t very big—”   
  
“Ta’Sava got a bit singed, but it’s fine because it’s Ta’Sava’s fault so—”

 

“—and even our guards and Inoichi were left unscathed.”

 

“Good,” Conrad said tersely, finally drinking the water. “How long was I out?”

 

“A couple of days,” Sven said. “We—well, the guards—took you to this place, and tried to interrogate us—”

 

“They did  _ what _ ?” Conrad demanded.

 

“They just asked a few questions, they didn’t understand that it was an accident, Master. At first, at least.”

 

“We cleared it, though,” Beta added, snatching the now empty glass.

 

“Of course you did, otherwise we would be back in the dungeons,” Conrad muttered, slowly sitting up on the bed. The kids didn’t reply to that, glancing to each other nervously. “What is it? Did I get injured badly? Is the mead safe?!” the Nord asked in a hurry, as he remembered the important stuff.

 

“No, no no!” Beta hurriedly said. “The mead is safe, back at our shed. And you didn’t lose any… important bits. Don’t worry Master!”    
  
“Yeah, the healers here did a very good job. The potions we prepared, too,” Sven explained, although he seemed half-way ready to take a step back from the bed.   
  
“And Beta helped, too,” Ta’Sava added for a good measure with a nervous grin. “Master Conrad didn’t even get new scars. Only the ones he already has!” 

 

“Then why are you—” Conrad started, stopping to talk as he massaged his aching jaw. 

 

His  _ shaved _ jaw.

 

“The healers had to trim it to heal your burns!” Beta quickly started to talk. “And half of it was gone anyway—”   
  
“Because of the explosion,” Sven added, for a matter of precision.

 

“Ta’Sava is sorry, Master Conrad! It was an accident!” 

 

“—but it will grow back!” Beta continued, ignoring her fellow apprentices. “I mean, I  _ think _ it will… the wounds healed completely though! Isn’t that something to be happy of?” 

 

Sadly for the Nord girl, Conrad was not listening to her or her companions. At all. He was more focused on trying to take deep, calming breaths. And failing as the rage inside him kept getting closer to the breaking point. Not only had he been captured, imprisoned, interrogated, humiliated, probed, and confined for a month in a hut. 

 

But in his most recent memory, he had also found out that he was stuck in a mead-less land and he’d lost his beard to boot!

 

Before he knew it, he was on his feet, gritting his teeth and a feral growl threatening to escape his throat. He passed by his students and went straight towards the room’s door, ignoring the weird furniture entirely.    
  
He needed fresh air. Or to punch something.    
  
Rue the foolish soul that would try to stop him. 

 

* * *

 

Naruto and Shikamaru bid farewell to Lee’s eccentric sensei and quietly left the hospital room. They had waited a bit—alright, a  _ lot _ —before leaving just to be sure that the creepy Suna genin would actually  _ leave _ , instead of ambushing them just outside the door. 

 

Both the boys were still shaken by the tale of the redhaired teen’s life, especially Naruto since it was way too similar to his own for comfort. A part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he could’ve gone the same way had he not met Iruka-sensei or his teammates, and the rest of him was scared shitless at the idea of facing someone like Gaara during the tournament.

 

How did you fight someone with such techniques and powers who claimed to exist only to kill others? 

 

“If it hadn’t been for bushy-brows-sensei…” he started, not looking Shikamaru in the eyes.

 

“Yeah…” Shikamaru mumbled in agreement, even if Naruto were stating the obvious.

 

"So, Shikamaru... you're gonna see Chouji now, right?" he asked, trying to change topic.

 

"Yeah. Want to come?"

 

"No, I think that I'll go straight home. You know..."

 

"Yeah," the Nara simply shrugged. “See you tomorrow then.”

 

“Sure,” Naruto said, waving goodbye as he started to walk towards the staircase at the end of the hallway. The blond knew that he was in a tricky situation, to use an eup… an anal… to put it simply! He wanted to punch Neji’s stupid face and  _ win _ , but doing so he would risk fighting Gaara who wouldn’t think twice before killing him.   
  
That was, of course, if Gaara won against Sasuke. 

 

What if Sasuke was killed by Gaara, though?! No, no, there was  _ no  _ way that he would die. He had been trained for a month by Kakashi-sensei after all and he had the whole ‘vengeance’ thing to do, he wouldn’t let himself be killed before that. 

 

Maybe he was worrying himself for nothing. He had been training for a month too, after all! Sure, Ero-Sennin wasn’t as cool as Kakashi-sensei but he was supposed to be a powerful ninja and stuff—he was surely more perverted than Kakashi-sensei. And he had taught him… how to… summon… toads…

 

Naruto groaned, considering how little help a small amp… amphi… a toad would be during a fight. Unless he summoned the boss toad, Gamabunta. A giant toad surely sounded helpful in a fight… too bad that said giant toad didn’t like it that much, considering what had happened after he had summoned him. What kind of impression would he give to the tournament judges if it happened again?

  
He was half-way on the stairwell when he heard a commotion and some muffled shouts coming from the floor above him. Strangely enough, they didn’t seem to quiet down, they were actually becoming louder. Didn’t they know that this was a hospital? Even  _ he  _ knew better than to piss off the doctors like this...

 

It wasn’t his business though and surely the nurses would stop whoever was yelling so much, but before he took another step there was a loud crash, along with the sound of broken glass. 

 

“That’s it!” he exclaimed, turning around and storming up the stairwell to the next floor, determined to find the source of the commotion. It didn’t matter who it was, he was going to chew out whoever was the responsible. There were actual  _ sick _ people in this place!

 

When he finally reached the floor where all the noise was coming from, he was able to hear the yells a bit clearer from the half-closed door. 

 

“Please sir, just...just calm down, there are patients who need to rest,” a woman, probably a doctor or a nurse said from beyond the door. “If you force me to, I will have to—”

 

“I no understand half you say!” another voice yelled—so this was the guy that was causing all this mess! Naruto got closer to the door, starting to roll up his sleeves. “WHERE IS EXIT?!” 

 

“Restrain him!” someone else shouted. Naruto bolted towards the door, startled by the sudden sound of a brawl and even more shouting. He grabbed the handle—

 

**“—RO DAH!”**

 

The door opened, pushed almost out off its hinges by a shockwave-like explosion and Naruto found himself hitting the stairwell’s railing and slumping on the ground, breathless from the impact. Someone else, one of the masked guys that always seemed to hang around the Hokage, landed beside him, managing somehow to roll on his feet even if completely unbalanced.

 

The masked shinobi tried to get up but another figure darted out of the door, punching him so hard that his white mask shattered in dozens of fragments. The now maskless ninja fell on the ground, unmoving, and his attacker roared in satisfaction.    
  
It wasn’t a sound that would be associated to a human’s throat.

 

Naruto had to suppress a shiver as the tall man—although not as tall as Ero-Sennin—turned towards him, revealing a pair of slitted eyes. Although these were blue, they reminded the young genin  _ way  _ too much of Orochimaru. 

 

As their eyes met, the man seemed to freeze on his spot. Naruto couldn’t swear that he was even breathing. He noticed the other details of the man’s face, like the blond hair, the scarred face, the wrinkles starting to show up around the eyes, but found himself unable to look away from those slitted pupils. 

 

Naruto was halfway moving his hand towards his kunai holster, when the stranger’s face seemed to morph all of sudden. Gone was the feral frown, replaced with a confused look. The eyes were changing too, the pupil becoming rounder, until they became more similar to a normal eye, not very different from his own besides the look of surprise and shock in them. 

 

The man opened his mouth a couple of times, but no sound was coming from it, as if he was at a loss of words.

 

“Naruto… ?” he finally said, looking strangely surprised by the word that had escaped from his lips.  
  
  
“How do you know my name, old man?!” 

 

 


	11. Discussions and Sour Truths

 

His fist shattered the guard’s stupid mask, and Conrad roared in satisfaction as the man fell on the ground, unconscious. It was a sound coming from the deep bowels of his soul, and he felt his larynx tremble at the might of it.

 

It was liberating. It was intoxicating. It was dangerous.

 

A part of him knew that he was getting close to the edge but after what he had to put up with, he just didn't care.

 

Movement just on the corner of his sight caught his attention and he abruptly turned to face his new opponent. It was then that his mind and soul ground to a complete and utter stop.

 

A boy, a very young boy, not even in his teens, was laying on the ground, a look of fear in his eyes.

 

The picture of helplessness sent something predatory stirring in his blood, but he ignored it, concentrating on the boy's eyes.

 

He had already seen those eyes.

 

They were very similar to his own.

 

He felt his rage simmer down and fade, replaced with confusion as memories flooded right in front of him, echoes of a life that wasn't his own but sometimes surely felt like it was.

 

"Naruto...?" he asked uncertainly, almost not realizing that he had spoken out loud.

 

The boy flinched before a defiant glint entered his eyes. "How do you know my name, old man?!"

 

How, indeed. Conrad could feel his head spin, trying to register what he had just realized. While his nephew— _his nephew_ —waited for an answer that the Nord wasn't sure how to formulate, he realized something.

 

He had been lied to. Inoichi had _lied_ to him, about Minato's family. Minato had a son, before dying.

 

The kid wasn’t a copy of Minato, of course. His hair was blond, but a slightly different shade. His skin was a a bit more tanned, and his face had a rounder shape. Conrad couldn’t help but wonder how much of his mother was in him, then he frowned as he felt Minato’s memories playing tricks on him once again.

 

He had never seen anything like the marks on the boy’s cheeks though. They looked like scars, but a closer inspection revealed that they weren’t scars, or tattoos or birthmarks or anything like that. They were just… marks on the skin.

 

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Naruto said, getting up with a frown on his face. He barely reached Conrad's chest. The boy was _short_. "Answer my question! And what’re you doing?! There are sick people here!"

 

Conrad would've liked to reply to the disrespectful tone accordingly, or just say anything... but what was he supposed to say? What's the first thing a man should say to a kid that he just met and magically found out he was related to?

 

"Well?! And why did you knock out this guy?!" Naruto asked loudly, seemingly taking notice of the passed out guard only now.

 

The Nord focused again on the boy, he had not even realized that he had got lost in his own thoughts. He supposed that presentations were in order.

 

"You see, Naruto..." he started, hesitating for a moment. "I—"

 

"Don't move!" someone ordered, mercilessly breaking the mood.

 

"Oh you have to be jesting," Conrad muttered in Nordic, before slowly turning his head. Behind him, two masked guards had literally just _appeared_ , weapons in hands and ready to strike. He was really getting tired of that.

 

Sadly for the poor bastards, he had long realized that if they truly wanted to kill him, they would've done it already. **"Tiid Klo Ul."**

 

Time froze, or at least it was slowed down like if was made of molasses, and everyone along with it. Everyone but the Dragonborn.

 

He cracked his knuckles as he turned to face them, and they lunged at him. Unsurprisingly, even with Conrad’s shout they were almost as fast as a normal man would’ve been in more mundane circumstances, which was a testament to their speed. Almost was not enough, though.

 

Conrad side-stepped the first attack, idly noticing that hadn’t he moved he would’ve been hit with the flat of the blade—yet another confirmation that they didn’t want to kill him—and grabbed the man’s wrist. With a single motion, he twisted it until the short, single-edged sword fell from the guard’s hand.

 

The sword fell at normal speed, but to Conrad it was like it was falling through water. He caught it by the hilt with his free hand easily and used it to parry the other guard’s attack. The blades clashed and locked, as Conrad shoved his own one to the side, leaving an opening in his opponent's defense.

 

With a spin, he threw the unarmed guard right against the other one, sending them tumbling down. To their credit, they were already trying to get up, and it was clear that they would’ve not landed in a mess of limbs and bodies as the Nord had hoped.

 

He let go of his weapon and bounded at them with his bare hands. Both found the neck of one of the guards, but the Dragonborn didn’t stop his sprint.

  
There was no grace, no complex or calculated movements or anything like that. Just brute strength and momentum, aimed to slam the two men’s unprotected napes against the wall.

 

The impact sounded dull through the effect of Conrad’s dragon shout, but the cracks forming on the hard surface were satisfying enough.

 

The sword fell from the hand of the guard on his right, while the other grabbed his arm and tried to free himself. The fact that they had refused to fall unconscious just pissed him even more.  
  
So he pulled, just enough to distance the two fighters from the wall. Then he slammed them against it again.

 

And again.

 

And again, each time causing even more cracks to appear on the wall.

 

Adding a knee to the crotch of the more resilient guy for a good measure, Conrad finally let them go. They fell like two sacks of potatoes, or at least how two sacks of potatoes would fall if time were slowed down, before remaining limp on the ground.

 

Then he kicked them both on their sides, just to be sure. Hopefully they would not disturb his reunion with his unexpectedly newly-found kin now.

 

Time started to flow normally as he straightened up, dusting off his hands. Turning around, he almost tried to resume his introduction from where he had been interrupted from, only to stop on his tracks as he saw Naruto.

 

The kid was looking at him with a shocked expression, eyes darting from the three unconscious men to Conrad. He had even taken a step back.

 

The Nord realized that beating three city guards, even if they deserved it, wasn’t exactly a very good first impression. Scratching his head, he tried to think how to explain his actions.

 

Naruto’s punch caught him completely by surprise, hitting him square on his chin.

 

Conrad’s reaction was swift enough, grabbing the kid’s orange— _orange!_ —jacket and simply lifting him in the air, giving him a bad eye. Naruto immediately started to thrashing around, trying to hit him and screaming words that the Dragonborn didn’t know, probably swear words or threats.

 

Conrad sighed, inwardly asking himself what he was supposed to do now. As long as reunions between long-lost family members could go, this was probably among the least encouraging ones.

 

For being such a shortie, the kid had a pretty good punch, he mused. Quite fast, too. Not as the masked fools that had spied on him for a month or so, but noticeably so. His eyes caught sight of the headband with the snail mark on his nephew’s forehead, the same that Inoichi, Anko and a few others he had seen sported proudly. He had been so absorbed from the discovery of having a family that he had not even noticed it.

 

An apprentice, perhaps? Maybe still studying how to become a “shinobi” in that place Inoichi mentioned? He sure seemed young enough...

 

“Let me go, dammit!” Naruto shouted, talking so fast that Conrad was barely able to understand the words. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, fighting the old man’s guys?!”

 

“They attack me first,” he replied, honestly confused by how that seemed to be a bad thing. It wasn’t like he had conjured a knife and slit their throats, after all. Sure, there would probably be a fine to pay or something like that later, but it was totally worth it. “Naruto, listen very—”

 

Conrad's instructions came to a screeching halt as three figures came barreling down the hall.

 

“Master, please calm down—” Beta, the first to arrive, called to him in their mother tongue. Her words died as she noticed the three unconscious guards. “Oh no. It’s too late.”   
  
“That’s it. We’ll be hunted down and killed like outlaws now. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later,” Sven proclaimed somberly. “You guys owe me twenty septims.”

 

“Ta’Sava did not sign up for this—Oooh. A little copy of the master. Except for the whiskers. Why he have whiskers? He is no Khajiit.”

 

“Wha—What the—?!” Naruto yelped, eyes darting from one mage to the other in confusion. Conrad doubted it was because he had been hearing unfamiliar words. If he had to guess, he would say that he had grasped that he was staring at a bipedal cat. It seemed to be the norm when someone saw Ta’Sava these days.

 

“Master… who is that boy?” Beta asked, sounding concerned by how he was holding Naruto above the ground level close to a stairway well.

 

Conrad sighed, slowly putting down his nephew, without letting him go though since the kid predictably tried to bolt out. “Speak Akaviric or how it’s called, Beta,” Conrad said gruffly in said language. “Is rude to speak in way someone can’t understand. Come on,” he gestured, starting to walk towards the stairs, pulling Naruto along with him. “You three, too.”

 

“Hey, wait a minute!” Naruto protested, trying to get free but still following his steps. “Who are you guys? And why do you talk funny—”

 

“I said, _come on_ !” he growled without slowing down. “We must go.”   
  
“Go where?!” Naruto and the magelings asked in unison.

 

"I want explanation. Must kill blonde liar too... Maybe he explain before."

 

“An explanation about _what_ , you crazy old man?!” the kid yelled at the top of his lungs.

 

“That is a good description,” Sven snorted, which gained him a playful whack in the head from Ta’Sava.

 

Conrad was about to ask to the boy if he was always this loud, but a sudden thought made him pause. As he stopped on the lower floor, right in front of one of the large windows, Naruto freed himself of his grip and took a step back, a confused and yet defiant expression on his face. The Nord studied the kid’s face for a few, tense seconds. Even the magelings didn’t dare to interrupt.

 

There was no recognition or realization in his nephew’s eyes.

 

“They never tell you about your father?” he asked with a heavy sigh. Naruto’s eyes went wide at that, confirming his suspicions.

 

“My… father?” the stunned child whispered. Oh, this was going to be _so_ easy to explain.

 

Something about this didn’t make sense though. If Minato had been their leader, why would these people not tell his son about his father's identity?

 

Unless he was a bastard? The dreams and bits he had experienced from Minato's memories had shown him a _woman_ , not a _wife_... Not yet, at least. But seeing how fragmented and confusing they had been, he didn't think he would get any confirmation of Naruto's legitimacy from them.

 

Not that there was anything wrong with being a bastard. But he knew well that some people and cultures thought that having a son out of wedlock was dishonorable, especially for someone in a high position. That could explain why people could not acknowledge the boy as Minato's family. Like Inoichi had.

 

Unless there was something else he had not been told, that was the only reason he could think of. Or perhaps Minato had kept it a—

 

He heard the sound of running footsteps, and he saw something green and _fast_ rushing at him from his side. He turned to face it—

 

“DYNAMIC—”

 

Conrad felt the blow on the torso, and immediately after there was the sound of something breaking all around him.

 

A split of a second later, he was staring at the sky, surrounded by glass shards. Then he saw the ground in the distance, racing to meet him...

 

“Crap!” he exclaimed with a tinge of panic, frantically tapping to the power of the Aetherius and putting his knowledges in the school of Alteration at work. Spreading his arms wide open, he forced gravity to lessen its grip on him. It wasn’t enough to reach full levitation, not by a long shot, but it surely slowed him down enough.

 

The Nord landed in the middle of the street with a grunt, falling on his knees. Not a very graceful landing, but at least he had nothing broken.

 

He was aware of the startled people around him, but the pangs of pain from the cuts and glass shards edged all over his body seemed a bit more important.

 

With as much care he could muster, he started to dig them from his skin, trying to avoid to break them further otherwise healing the deeper cuts would be a problem later.

 

All around him, Conrad could _feel_ the stares. The whispers. He even saw a couple of people point at him with awe-struck expressions. Shouldn’t they have been calling the guards instead? Or was it normal for people to be thrown out of windows around here?

 

Oh, right. He had lost his beard, so he looked like Minato—

 

A figure landed a little distance from him, way more gracefully than he had fell to the ground. The green color was the first thing his mind registered. Lots and lots of green, on what looked to be well-toned muscles.

 

Then he saw the hair, shaped like a bowl.

 

Much to his surprise, the people on the street didn't seem to react to the man's appearance as much as he would've thought.

 

"How unyouthful of you to cause trouble in a hospital! If it is a fight that you wish for, let us continue out here so as not to disturb my most youthful student and the rest of the patients!" the green-clad man proclaimed boisterously. "As much as I admire the flames of your passion, I would prefer if you would stand down!"

 

Conrad didn't understand everything that the strange man had said, partly because of the weird way he spoke, but mostly for the fury mounting from the deepest corners of his soul.

 

He had caught the part about calming down and surrendering. Normally Conrad would have even listened. He wasn't the kind of person that picked a fight in the middle of a street.

 

Not without a damn good reason, at least.  

 

However, he had a _bad_ couple of days, between the news about the lack of mead available on the local markets and the loss of the beard he was so proud of. Then he had been attacked just because he wanted to get some fresh air.

 

Oh, and he found out that he had a living blood relative. It was that kind of news that changed how some people looked at their lives.

 

But this utter fool, this man in green, had taken him away from Naruto before he could explain to the kid about his father. Which apparently nobody had ever bothered to do.

 

Also, he threw him out of a window. From a tall building.

 

Picking out the last of the shards wedged in his upper arms, Conrad extended a palm towards the freak of nature. " _Burn_."

 

A stream of flames shot from his hand, engulfing the green-dressed man.

 

Conrad heard a startled scream from the crowd, but instead of running away from the fight the people just seemed to move on the edges of the street, just enough to be safe, chattering among themselves.

 

What was _wrong_ with these—

 

"I understand,” the voice of the green man said from behind him. “Out of respect for your resolve, I'll give you the fight you wish."

 

Before Conrad could even spun around, he felt the blow. It was like being hit by a warhammer, and like a warhammer it spread fire from his side to his whole body. There was a sickening crunch, and at least one rib fractured from the impact, which cracked a few more for sure.

 

A pained yell died in his throat as a punch crashed on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Another punch immediately followed, this time striking his left cheek. All of this had happened in a single green and painful blur.

 

Conrad blindly aimed another jet of magical flames against his opponent, but it singed nothing but air. Another blow—either a kick or a punch—exploded against the back of his head, and he felt his vision swimming, just on the brink of unconsciousness.

 

Something stirred inside the Nord. Being knocked unconscious like a milk-drinker? _Again_? Fuck that.

 

Gritting his teeth, the mage pulled together his hands and forced as much power he could muster into a spell, trying to overcome the limits imposed from the manacles. He let it go, a brief azure flash surrounded his body just before the man’s next strike hit him square on his face.

 

It was a strong punch, but the pain wasn’t anywhere near comparable to the blows he had just been pummelled with. Instead, it felt more like a strong slap to his face, which helped the Nord to clear his head.

 

The punches ceased all of a sudden, and Conrad looked up, bruised, bloodied, but getting steadier on his feet. He saw the man in the horrible attire staring at him with undisguised curiosity, his pose vaguely defensive.

 

"Just now, you somehow made your skin harder,” the green-clad fighter muttered in wonder. “I can feel it with my fists."

 

"No shit," Conrad replied. It was a lame comeback, but considering that he barely felt half of his face he couldn’t think of anything better. Frankly, he counted himself lucky he still had all his teeth inside his mouth.

 

Taking advantage of the unexpected pause, he moved his hands on his wounded side, concentrating as best as he could. A warm golden light appeared above each hand, he felt the pain from the broken rib subside, as bone roughly melded itself. The cuts and scrapes from the glass shards slowly closed as well, and his many bruises faded a bit. From across the street, his opponent watched with rapt fascination.  

 

Which was good. The longer he stood still to stare at him, the longer the Dragonborn could come up with a plan. If Conrad had thought the masked men were fast, this green-clad monstrosity was made them look sluggish. It didn’t even feel like fighting against a human.

 

No wonder he was dressed like that. He probably knew that nobody would criticize his dressing preferences.

 

As soon as he felt good enough, Conrad shifted the way he was using his magic with a simple flicker of his fingers, and the golden lights faded away, being replaced by little electric arches. He could feel the energy building up, but part of it was being lost because of the accursed manacles he was still wearing, greatly limiting his options.  


The man in green wasn't moving though, actually he seemed to be waiting for the Nord to make his move.

 

Either it was because of chivalry or because what Conrad had done so far was unknown to him, but it was a big mistake. You never, _ever_ leave a wizard enough time to prepare—

 

In the blink of an eye, the man was right in front of him, fist ready to strike.

 

 **“Feim!”** he yelled in a hurry, and the green man’s fist passed through him, leaving him unscathed as his opponent almost lost balance due to his own momentum. Conrad half-turned towards the man that has gone through his ethereal body, a hand sprayed against him, cackling with electricity.

 

“Dodge _this_ ,” Conrad seethed, unleashing a bolt of lightning, his body returning to a corporeal form.

  
Much to his surprise, the man _did_ dodge it, albeit barely. By jumping and twisting in mid-air, which was just _ridiculous_ . The spell passed close to the man’s head, and crashed against a building, defacing its walls with a quite large scorching mark.   
  
This finally caused the crowd to back off, at least.   
  
“Yosh! You use quite a few strange techniques!” the man exclaimed as he landed, his hair now bristled and pointing upwards, some of its ends slightly burned. He didn’t seem to notice, though. “Time to treat you seriously, then—”

 

 **“FUS RO DAH!”** the Nord yelled, sending his opponent flying all the way down the street. Like the masked guards, he didn’t have the decency to stay down, opting for bouncing right back on his feet instead.

 

The man grinned, and Conrad swore that his teeth _shone_ , reflecting the light of the day. “A most splendid attack, allow me to show you—”

 

Yet another lightning bolt exploded from the Nord’s outstretched hand, and the green monstrosity just side-stepped it, before shooting forward faster than an arrow. Conrad let him know how annoyed he was by throwing yet another fast-travelling spell at him, one after another, alternating between his left and right hand. Each time, the man would dodge it, appearing to the wizard as a smudge of green charging towards him.

 

With a mighty jump, the man soared high above the Nord, a body of solid muscle that ended with an outstretched heel aimed for Conrad’s face.

 

Good.

 

 **“Tiid!”** the Dragonborn shouted, raising his arms to protect himself from the imminent impact as the world slowed down around him. The kick, stronger than an axe, landed straight on the manacles at Conrad’s wrists. Caught between the hardened skin and the monstrously powerful blow, the magic-tampering metal bent and finally broke apart.

 

Conrad couldn’t help but grin maliciously as he saw surprise setting on the green man’s face, savoring each change it slowly went through. That, and the fact that his arcane power wasn’t limited anymore.

 

Deciding to avoid staying under the still-descending foot, he took a few steps backwards, just out of the way of the man’s kick. At a gesture of his hands, glowing blue lines traced themselves into the dirt in front of him.

 

The man’s eyes widened in alarm as he took notice, and if possible, Conrad’s grin turned even fiercer.

 

Time began flowing normally again, and the green monstrosity fell right on the magic rune. Conrad instinctively braced for the impact, shielding his head with his arms as best as he could.

 

A short-lived flash, and then there was just _cold_. There was no other way to describe it.

 

It came in a single wave, a deep, bitter chill straight from the hellish depths of winter. When Conrad opened his eyes, his front was coated with a thin layer of hoarfrost. His skin was numb, and he couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers, but he could ignore it.

 

Even if he didn’t like the cold, there were a few advantages to having Nord blood in his veins.

 

His opponent, much to Conrad’s delight, had fared far worse. Icicles had formed around his body, his face showed the first signs of frostbite and his limbs were now encased in solid blocks of ice, trapping him on the spot.

 

The man’s face was glowing with amazement, though. “Brilliant tactical maneuver! I must applaud your wit!” he exclaimed cheerfully. How dared he be so cheerful?!

 

“You can use Ice-Style? I didn't even knew there was anyone still able to!" he continued, possibly even more excited than before, besides the fact that he was shivering for the sudden drop in bodily temperature. Then there was a solid solid crack and part of the icy formation exploded, sending sending ice shards flying in every direction.

 

Conrad's eyes widened as the man flexed his now free arm. People can't just break to free themselves from ice!

 

"Say, where are you from—"

 

"For the love of Talos, _shut up_!" Conrad hissed as a sickly and malicious green color coated his fingertips. Without hesitation, he charged and fired the spell.

 

Still trapped by the ice, the fighter had no chance to dodge it and his body was immediately coated by the green tinge of the paralyzing magic, freezing him on the spot, his face petrified in surprise.

 

Conrad briefly thought that the color suited him, as he started to conjure another spell on his right hand. In a swirl of flame, a small fireball was born, hovering on his palm.

 

He raised his arm, pointing the deadly spell right in front of the green man's face, almost at point-blank range. He could feel the fighter's gaze on him, even if his body wasn't able to move. He met the frozen eyes with his ice one, as the fire kept raging in his hand.

 

Then he cut the magicka that was feeding the spell and closed his fist, snuffing it like a candle.

 

"I win," Conrad said, his voice tinged with vicious satisfaction.

 

"That was a fine show," a voice behind him remarked.

 

Conrad jerked around, and found himself face to face with a familiar face. It was the same old man that he had met when he woke up in that cell almost one month ago.

 

It was like if he had just appeared there, weird hat and pipe in the mouth. Not a sound at all.

 

Was anyone remotely normal in this accursed continent?!

 

The old man smiled gently, but Conrad didn't miss the sharp glint in his eyes. "I trust this fight is over?"

 

"How long you watch?" he asked. He didn't like the idea that someone could sneak on him during a fight.

 

"Enough to see you using some... unusual abilities, so to speak. Could you be so kind to release my subordinate, now?"

 

At that, Conrad glanced at the paralyzed man, noticing only then that he was sporting that stupid snail marking him as a shinobi. On a belt, strangely enough. "You're the Hokage," he commented, not doing anything to please the old man's request.

 

"What gave me away?" the man asked mirthfully, before frowning. "I am Sarutobi Hiruzen, and the village is under my protection. Now, I'm asking you to—"

 

"Your shinobi will be fine," Conrad scoffed. "Spell not last long. How did you know I not kill him?"

 

"I felt that it wasn't your intention," the old man replied cryptically. "Besides, I could've stopped you whenever I wished to."

 

It wasn’t a threat, or at least the wording—if Conrad had understood it correctly—hadn’t been threatening. But there was something in the way it had been said, as though it were a _fact_ , that made Conrad pause. Having spent a lot of his life surrounded by wizards of various age categories, he knew very well that old ones tended to be the most dangerous as a rule of thumb, even if not physically.   
  
If a shinobi could become as powerful as the man in green, how dangerous could their leader be?

 

“You know, for something like what you pulled you would normally being sent back in prison… or worse.”

 

"He started it, just like the masked ones," Conrad grunted, deciding that the best defense against an implied threat was to ignore it and change the topic. “You have explanation to give, old man.”

 

"Oh? About what?" the Hokage asked, taking a long puff from his pipe. It was like watching a glacier, immutable and imperturbable.

 

"THAT WAS AWESOME!" a much younger voice yelled from above with perfect timing. The old man’s shock as he choked on his pipe was incredibly satisfying. And lo and behold, there was Naruto, at the window Conrad had been thrown from, along with the magelings. “You can do the same stuff Haku did? Can you do the mirror trick?!”

 

“About that,” the Nord gestured with a tilt of his head. He had no idea what or who this ‘Aku’ and the mirror trick were, but there were more pressing matters than explaining it to his nephew.

 

Briefly glancing at the young boy, Sarutobi turned to face Conrad and an unspoken question was given.“Yes. I know who boy is,” Conrad said, looking straight into the old man’s eyes. “I know he no knows, too.”

 

The Hokage coughed one last time. “Perhaps now is not quite the best time or place to—”

 

“He has right to know,” he interrupted with a scowl, but keeping his voice down so that the child would not hear him.

 

“Hey, are you talking about me?” Naruto asked loudly. If once he became older the shinobi profession didn’t reveal to be good enough for him, Conrad was sure that the kid would be able to get a future as a herald.

 

The old man sighed and ran a hand over his face. If Conrad had to guess, he was quite stressed. Good. “You don’t understand, the risks are too great—”

 

“If you no tell him, _I_ will,” Conrad interrupted again. At this, the Hokage’s eyes grew _dangerous_ , not a trace of the previous worried expression present. The Nord didn’t wither under that gaze, though. He had stared down _dragons_ , for the gods’ sake. Multiple ones. There was no way that an old shinobi would manage to scare him.

 

But he surely got close enough.

 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they’re talking about me now. Hey, I’m right here!” Naruto called, but none of the two men turned to that. “Quit ignoring me!”

 

"There is a situation at hand right now," the old man said, not elaborating about it and quite ignoring Naruto's outburst. "And it got even more complex in the last days. I, and Konoha, can't afford to deal with this now."

 

"Not my problem," Conrad said dismissively, slowly shaking his head.

 

"It will be solved shortly," the ancient shinobi said, as if he needed to be reassured about that. "Just wait for two days, Harissen-san. Two days to sort it out, then I'll explain everything."

 

" _Minato_ sent me here. I crossed big sea, mountains and forests. Travelled for months. Your prisoner for one," the Dragonborn said taking a few steps towards the older man. "You better to—"

 

"That's it! I'm coming down now!" Naruto called, stopping Conrad on his tracks. Coming down?

 

His head snapped up towards the broken window, just in time to see Naruto stepping out on the window frame. Without the slightest bit of hesitation the boy jumped from the second floor, ignoring the startled yells from the magelings.

 

Conrad felt his heart skip a beat. The rest of his body, instead, decided to _move_.

 

In hindsight, he may have handled it better. The right shout at the right time, or a very strong telekinetic spell to either slow down or stop the boy's fall for a few seconds would've been enough to stop the reckless fool's fall. Sadly, when their only living relative does something incredibly stupid and dangerous, people don't always react in the most appropriate manner.

 

Somehow he still managed to rush there in time, arms closing around the falling body. He grunted as his sore and bruised muscles flared up in pain, along with the strain put on his barely-healed ribs. Still, he refused to fall on his knees.

 

The broken window shards would not have been pleasant to land on.

 

For a short moment, silence reigned on the almost deserted street, as Conrad checked the boy in his arms for injury. Considering that he was just staring stupidly at him he decided that he was fine. Time to give the boy a piece of his mind then.

 

"WHAT DID YOU THINK?!" the Nord yelled at the tops of his lungs. "YOU LITTLE—"

 

"HEY!" Naruto interrupted, yelling even louder than the Dragonborn, if that was even possible. "Let me go, you idiot! Who asked you to catch me?!"

 

“You were going to hurt you, boy! Why you jump?!”

 

“What? It’s just a jump!" Naruto asked incredulous, starting to struggle in the Nord's arms. "How could it hurt me?”

 

Conrad stared in disbelief at the boy in his arms for a long moment, before daring to ask what he was thinking. “Are you stupid?”

 

“I’m not the stupid one here—”

 

A cough was heard in the mostly deserted street, cutting off whatever retort or insults Naruto may have had.

 

“Harissen-san," the Hokage said, after catching the attention of both blonds. "I assure you that Naruto was not in danger to hurt himself. If he was, I would’ve stopped him.”

 

“HAH! See?!” Naruto exclaimed smugly, as he got free from Conrad's embrace.

 

“On the other hand, Naruto, Harissen-san is largely unaware of the skills possessed by shinobi,” the old man kept explaining.

 

“What?!” the boy exclaimed in a shocked and yet confused tone.

 

“He is not a shinobi and doesn’t know exactly what a shinobi can do," the Kage patiently clarified. "Like jumping from a building.”

 

“But he defeated Bushi-Brow-sensei!” Naruto protested, glancing at the frozen and paralyzed green-haired man. Conrad couldn't help but snicker at the strange name.

 

“Yes, he did. Which is quite impressive,” the elder shinobi said that, with an almost condescending tone, which caused the Nord to suppress a growl. “Still, even if he misunderstood your actions and tried to ‘save’ you, his utter lack of hesitation is remarkable.”

  
“Huh?” the boy asked, tilting his head.   
  
  
“He got scared at the thought of you getting hurt.”  
  
  
“Ooh. Is this because he knows about my father?” Naruto asked, a sparkle of realization in his eyes.

 

“More or less, yes,” Conrad replied with some mirth in his voice as he saw the old shinobi shot a brief glare in his direction.

 

“Are you—” Naruto hesitated for a moment to ask, biting his lips. “are you my father?”  
  
  
In the silence that ensued, Conrad felt his eyebrows disappear into his hairline in surprise. Sarutobi wasn't faring better, since he looked like he was on the verge of choking on his own pipe—not the smoke, the _pipe_.

 

They had surely not expected that.

 

"So... are you?" the boy asked again, looking actually hopeful.

  
“No!” the Nord exclaimed, maybe a bit more harshly that he had intended. But he wanted to clear that misunderstanding as soon as possible.  
  
  
“Oh…” Naruto mumbled, looking downcast.

 

“What made you think that?” Conrad couldn’t help but ask.

 

“Before you told me...” the boy said, pointing at the broken window from where the magelings were watching the strange exchange in silence. “And you, well… kinda look like me, so I thought…”

 

“I’m sorry, Naruto,” the Hokage sighed, talking in a way that reminded the Dragonborn of a concerned grandfather. “I’m afraid that Harissen-san is not your father.”  
  
“Hokage is right. I am...” Conrad paused, unsure to continue. He turned towards the old man, pointing at himself and Naruto repeatedly. “What is word for…”

 

“If we are really going to have this conversation, since it looks unavoidable at this point, we will not have it here in the open,” the old shinobi said sternly. Gone was the grandfatherly voice.  
  
  
“Is fine by me,” he shrugged.  
  
  
“It’s not fine by _me_ , Harissen-san,” the Hokage frowned, undeterred. “You’ll have your answers, but you will get them where _I_ want to give them.”

 

Conrad could see that nothing was going to make the shinobi leader change his mind, but he didn’t want to recognize his defeat. He opted for just grunting something that sounded approving instead.

 

“Very well then,” the Hokage said, gesturing with a couple of fingers towards Conrad and Naruto’s direction. One of the masked guards, not different from the ones that he had knocked out cold, appeared behind Naruto, startling him. At the same time, the Nord felt a pair of strong hands closing on his own shoulders, and against all instinct, decided not to resist.

 

A blink of an eye later, Conrad found himself being dragged away at a ridiculous speed, the world around him a blur.

 

* * *

 

"There they go. I told you he would get arrested again," Sven commented after seeing his teacher being taken away in a puff of smoke.

 

"Do you think we should help the man in green before he goes into hypothermia?" Beta asked anxiously. "If he dies, it will look bad."

 

"No, they've got it covered. Look," the boy answered pointing towards the street, where a couple of the whitish-dressed healers that worked in the building had rushed to attend the frozen warrior as soon as their master had been taken away. "Who was that kid anyway?"

 

"He looked like Master Conrad," Ta'Sava mumbled. "And Master Conrad said something about fathers..."

 

"You don't think that..."

 

"No, come on guys. That's impossible," the Imperial reasoned. "I mean, he never travelled to Akavir before."

 

“He didn’t, but… it doesn’t mean that the kid’s mother didn’t—” Beta countered, only to be interrupted by someone tapping her shoulder. The Nord girl turned, only to be meet by one of those inexpressive masks of their guards.

 

“Aaaw, Ta’Sava wanted to spring Master Conrad out of prison…”

 

* * *

 

In hindsight, Conrad should've just broken the guard's arm and been done with it. He would've avoided the vertigo and nausea he was experiencing. Sure, he had dealt with worse hangovers, but this was like waking up the next morning without having got any fun first.

 

How in the name of Julianos could these shinobi move at such high speeds and not suffer from any sort of side effects? The mere strain that they put on the muscles should've been enough to tear their limbs apart!

 

Unless there was magic involved, because magic explained everything. Almost. There were limits even to _that_.

 

Hadn't Minato mentioned something about the magic of Akavir working in a different way? Yes he did. He hadn't been very clear now that he thought about it, though. If there hadn’t been time to tell him about a nephew he never met, he suppose there hadn’t been time to pontificate about different kinds of magic.

 

"Harissen-san?" the old man's voice came to him. "If you would please join us..."

 

Conrad grunted some vaguely affirmative sound as he straightened up, fighting the wooziness he was still feeling to take in his surroundings. He had been taken to an unfamiliar room, but at least it wasn't a cell this time.

 

It was vaguely circular, with large windows making up one of its walls which gave an incredible view on the rest of the city. A fairly large—and strangely familiar—desk stood in the middle, impossible to not notice. And right behind it sat Sarutobi Hiruzen, the leader of these people.   
  
Instead of looking like a jarl or lord or whatever’s throne room, though, the place seemed closer to a clerk’s office. An impression that was strengthened by the fact that the Hokage was apparently busy writing on some papers with one of those quill-with-no-quill that didn't need to be refilled with ink.

 

He had to remember to get one when he went back at home. Or a dozen.

 

Glancing around, he noticed Naruto, fidgeting on his feet and trying to not show how he was obviously staring at him, and failing. Badly.

 

Unsure about how to deal with it, he opted to ignore the kid, hoping that he would stop doing it. Seriously, it was annoying to be stared like that.

 

Finally, the Hokage put down his writing stick or whatever it was called and looked at both of the blondes in front of him. “I know you both have a lot of questions. I had wished to speak about this at a later date, but—”

 

"Old Man, he said he knows about my dad! Who the hell is he?!" Naruto interrupted, deciding to jump straight to the point. Good kid.

 

"I had hoped to tell you when you were older, Naruto... I'm sorry I had to keep this from you."

 

"Tell me what? Keep what from me?!"

 

"He mean I your..." Conrad started, only to stumble on his own words and opting to keep it simple for his own's sake. "Minato my brother."

 

"Who's that?" the boy asked in confusion. "That sounds like a sissy name."

 

"You not know? Inoichi said Minato was..." the Nord asked in turn, turning towards the Hokage who seemed to be trying to hold back a groan.   

 

"Naruto, unfortunately, was frequently truant in school and, consequently, there are many gaps in his knowledge. Even in things that should be obvious," the old man answered.

 

"What?" he asked, feeling incredibly embarrassed. He hated not understanding big words. Damned his limited vocabulary!

 

"He studied very little," Sarutobi clarified for his sake.

 

"Hey!... That's kinda true," Naruto exclaimed in an attempt to sound outraged, only to mumble the last part.

 

Conrad looked at him with the stern disapproval that only family could pull off, having learned it from the best. "Is no good. Lessons important. Make mind better."

 

"But they were boring! And I'm not good at book stuff..."  the boy mumbled. "Why am I saying this to you, anyway?!?"

 

"You let him no go to lessons?" Conrad accused Sarutobi, ignoring the boy's latest outburst.

 

"Of course not! I made every effort to keep him in the classroom!" the Hokage exclaimed, looked understandably offended.

 

"QuitStop talking like I'm not here, dammit!" Naruto protested. "Old man, how'd this guy know my dad? You said my dad was dead!"

 

"Yes, he is Naruto, I'm afraid that it's not easy to explain, but before we continue you must realize this: everything that will be said from this point onwards, is a S-Rank secret."

 

"S-Rank...?" Naruto almost whispered, eyes widening. Conrad couldn't help but think that he was missing something here, having heard the strange appellative months ago from Hermaeus Mora. Sadly he didn't have enough context to extrapolate. Not even Minato's jumbled memories were helping. What did S-Rank even stand for, though?

 

"Do you understand?" the Hokage demanded in a stern voice, and Naruto nodded frantically. "Very well. Harissen-san, if you could please take the fourth picture from the wall behind you?"

 

Conrad turned as asked, getting a good eye of the rest of the room, and the piles of books and papers scattered around. It _definitely_ resembled a clerk or a scholar's office during a busy day. Above the door, four portraits were hanging from the wall. Four individuals, all with a serious look. The first two, he had no idea who they were. Not that he cared. The third one... either Sarutobi had not aged well, or the portrait was done when he was much, much younger. And of course, there was Minato.

 

So, _that_ was how he would’ve looked if he had let his bangs grow longer when he was younger. Strange how such a thought could come up _now_ , of all times.

 

"This is Minato," he said, taking the picture—which was probably how the locals called those incredibly detailed portraits, for all he knew—and passing it to Naruto.

 

"Uh. He looks familiar," the boy mused. Conrad had to resist the temptation of rolling his eyes. Or smacking some sense in the kid.

 

"Because he is—no, was..." he started, correcting himself. Verb conjugation was important. "He was my brother."

 

"But he looks just like you! Even if he has less wrinkles," Naruto observed.

 

"Twins," Conrad growled, getting more and more irritated at his nephew. He wasn’t sure if it was because the casual comment about his age or for the boy’s lack of awareness. “And he was your father."

 

The Nord silently stared as the boy’s eyes widened in shock, probably because the discussion’s whole weight crashed on him all at once. In Conrad’s opinion, he should’ve seen it coming by now.

 

"W-what?" Naruto finally choked out, his gaze darting from the picture to Conrad’s face. He was either desperately trying to regain grasp of reality, of he was a _really_ slow one. Conrad hoped that the latter was truer than the former.

 

"This man is your uncle, Naruto," Sarutobi clarified for the poor boy.

 

"Uncle...?"

 

"Yes," Conrad nodded. Naruto kept staring at him, but there was a different light in his eyes, like if he was seeing him for the first time.

 

"Why...?" the kid finally spoke, but nothing else came out the boy’s mouth, like if he couldn’t find the right words.

 

"Why?" the Nord asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

"Why didn't you come sooner...?" Naruto managed to ask, starting to tremble as he clenched his fists.

 

"Now wait moment—" Conrad tried to explain, only to be interrupted by a punch to his stomach, courtesy of his newly-found nephew.

 

"Where were you for all my life?!" Naruto all but yelled as he kept punching Conrad’s torso. He would’ve found it annoying, especially because he was still hurting from his fight, but was a bit taken back from the younger blond’s reaction.

 

"I not know, boy," he tried to say, but this didn’t seem to satisfy Naruto. It’s not like it was his fault if he had met him only now!

 

"Stop talking like that and answer me!" Naruto exclaimed in frustration and anger, tears forming around his eyes.

 

"Naruto!" Sarutobi interrupted the boy with a sharp tone. "I understand that you're confused, but Harissen-san didn't find out about your father until recently."

 

"What?" Naruto asked in confusion, lowering a fist that had been ready to strike again Conrad’s abused torso.

 

"I am from very far land. I came here fast I could," Conrad explained, putting Minato’s portrait on the desk, leaving out the fact that he hadn't even heard of the kid less than one hour ago. Somehow, that seemed like something that a child was not supposed to hear.

 

"Oh... sorry," Naruto said, deflating a little. "So, uhm... A land far away? Which one?"

 

"One you never heard of," the Nord stated, matter-of-factly.

 

"Huh? Yeah I wasn't good in geography, but—"

 

"Harissen-san is not from the Elemental Nations, Naruto. He has learned our language only recently." Sarutobi explained for the kid's sake.

 

"What? No way!" Naruto exclaimed.

 

"Oh, yes. Very much way. That's a topic we can talk about later, though," the Hokage said, probably to avoid for the discussion to go off-topic.

 

"I agree," Conrad reluctantly grunted. "Why Naruto not knows about Minato? Why it secret?"

 

"Oh, right!" the boy said, as if he had just remembered what they had been talking about. "You always told me that my parents—"

 

"I told you that your parents sacrificed their lives to protect the village. That much was true... but it wasn't the whole truth."

 

"Wasn't the whole truth? What do you mean, Old Man?" Naruto asked, real hurt being hearable in his voice.

 

"You must understand. Everything I've done, everything I've had to do, has all been to protect you," the old shinobi tiredly said. "The man in this photo, your father, was the Yondaime of Konohagakure."

 

"The... the Yondaime is... was my dad?" Naruto asked, even more shocked than before if such a thing was possible, gripping his stomach with all his strength. Conrad didn't blame him, it was a lot to handle all at once. "But then—”

 

"Yes, Naruto. Your father is the man that killed the Fox," Sarutobi said with a stern tone.

 

"But he—"

 

"And doing so, he saved the village," the Hokage continued, and Naruto's attempted protest died with it. Once again, Conrad couldn't help but think that something was amiss here. Maybe some details about how the beast was killed were not exactly of public dominion? After all, to kill it Minato had condemned himself to an eternity spent inside the Soul Cairn.

 

Maybe necromancy of any kind was particularly frowned, here? Conrad decided to leave such speculations for later. Living family matters came first.

 

"But... if I am the Yondaime's son, then how come I was never told?" Naruto asked, still appearing a little shocked.

 

"To protect you."

 

"Protect me from who?"

 

"You may have ignored the lectures that bored you, but I'm sure that you're aware that your father was a powerful shinobi—"

 

"Everyone knows that the Yondaime was strong, old man!" the boy butted out, like if he was stating an obvious thing.

 

"—and, because of that, he made a lot of enemies," the Hokage continued, ignoring Naruto's interruption. "Surely you can imagine what a child of an important leader could risk."

 

Conrad nodded in comprehension. "A target. Weak one. Way to strike father. Or mother."

 

"Are you saying that... someone could've tried to kill me because of that?!" Naruto asked as if such a thing was unthinkable. So, slow-witted, inattentive and naive to boot. Wonderful. "But everyone respected him! They still do—"

 

"They respect him, yes. _In Konoha_ ," Sarutobi continued explaining. "Among his enemies, especially Iwa, he was quite vilified and hated. Which is why you can’t go bragging about him, especially right now, as a team from Iwa is in the village for the Chunin Exams."

 

“You let enemies of Minato in your city?” Conrad asked, ignoring how the older man had looked at him as he spoke—it’s not like it was his fault if his enemies were paranoid. Allowing them to visit sounded like inviting Thalmor to a lecture or feast, though.

 

“Village," Sarutobi corrected. Conrad didn't say anything, but he refused to call a place that had probably a few good dozens of thousands of inhabitants a village. "And the exams are an international event, refusing them would’ve been like admitting we are too weak. Or that we have something to hide.”

 

“You _have_ something to hide,” the Nord snorted, gesturing towards Naruto.

 

“Yes, but they don’t know that,” Sarutobi admitted, with what looked like the ghost of a smirk.

 

Naruto didn't say anything, still processing what he had been told. It was like he had never considered that people may hate what he considers heroes. Actually, from what the Dragonborn had seen so far, there was a good chance of that.

 

"What about my mom?" the boy suddenly asked, maybe trying to change the topic. "You guys never said anything about her... Is she alive?"

 

"She died the day you were born," Sarutobi said slowly, regretful of giving such bad news.

 

"Oh," Naruto said glumly, as the hope that had practically been emanating from him a moment ago all but evaporated.

 

"Her name was Uzumaki Kushina, Naruto," the Hokage continued. "She loved you very much."

 

"She was a beautiful woman. Long hair. Red like blood," Conrad offered, realizing too late what he was saying.

 

"You knew my mom?" Naruto asked in amazement.

 

"Not... exactly..." Conrad mumbled, ignoring the sharp glare that Sarutobi was giving him. He couldn’t exactly tell the boy the _details_ about how he knew something about his mother. Not that he knew much, thanks to Minato’s botched job. Thinking back to _that_ made him look warily at the desk, hoping that the familiarity he felt was _not_ related to _those_ memories he had got.

 

At that, Naruto just tilted his head in confusion. "Eh?"

 

“Your father told me,” he added. It wasn’t a lie, _technically_.

 

"But… you said you found out only now, and he’s been dead for foreveryears,” the boy slowly reasoned. “It doesn’t make sense!"

 

"Met his ghost," Conrad explained.

 

"... I call bullshit."

 

"Language, Naruto," Sarutobi reprimanded the boy. Conrad filed what was apparently a bad word for later usage. Not knowing enough swear words in the local tongue was frustrating. "As far as we can tell, he is telling the truth."

 

"In my land there is special place," Conrad explained. "Place where you can meet dead. There I meet Minato."

 

"Really... ? Do you think my mom is there too?"

 

"I... not see her, sorry,” the Nord said, hoping that that wasn’t the case. “Meet only Minato and he sends me here."

 

"To find me?" Naruto asked expectantly.

 

"To find you, yes," Conrad nodded. Although being advised about the kid's existence would've been nice.

 

"Why couldn't he come too?! I mean, he's a ghost, right?” Naruto pressed. “He could've... I don't know... floated here, or something!"

 

"Dead people... can't leave that place," he explained, in an admittedly lame way. He just didn’t know enough Akaviric words to express _why_ the soul trapped in that plane weren’t able to leave.

 

"Then we could go there and talk to my dad!” the boy insisted, getting more and more excited at the idea. “And ask him if mom's there too!"

 

"That... is stupid idea,” Conrad said flatly. “More stupid idea I heard in my life."

 

“You mean ‘most’, Harissen-san,” Sarutobi corrected him.

 

“Whatever.”

 

"Huh? How come?" Naruto asked.

 

"Only dead can enter that place. You die if you go."

 

"Didn't _you_ go, though?" his nephew questioned skeptically.

 

"I special case," Conrad said matter-of-factly.

 

"Bullshit!" Naruto exclaimed, pointing a finger at him.

 

Before he could retort, Sarutobi caught the duo’s attention with a short cough. "While I considered the option of contacting Minato's soul—"

 

"YES!" the boy loudly cheered, pumping both of his arms in the air.

 

“—I've decided that right now, it's not possible,” The Hokage continued imperturbed before Conrad could open his mouth to protest. “The location your uncle mentioned is very far from the village, in an unknown land, and probably far more dangerous than I could ever imagine."

 

"But—"

 

"To go there, you have to cross sea,” Conrad interjected. “Arrive in land you no know about, no know language, no know monsters—”

 

“Monsters?” Naruto asked in a mix of confusion and worry, his hand going once again to rest on his belly. Was the boy weak of stomach or something, too?  
  
“Yes, monsters,” the Nord nodded, resuming listing the reasons why such a travel would’ve been difficult. “No have contacts, no allies. Then you walk for... what is word for that? Whatever. Even if you arrive there, something something Volkihar is not safe place either."

 

"Volkihar?" Sarutobi asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

"Big... house of stone? Door for Soul Cairn is in there," Conrad explained. No matter how zealously the Dawnguard had cleansed it, the whole place just kept feeling _wrong_ , somehow. And not in the mundane way.

 

Naruto blinked for a moment at that. "And what is the—"

 

"Place where your father soul is."

 

“I would like to hear about this place—and of your land—at a later date, Harissen-san,” the Hokage said all of sudden. “For now, I think there are more immediate topics to talk about.”

 

A moment of silence followed that statement, and Conrad stole a glance to his nephew, who was apparently doing the same.  
  
  
“What… what happens now?” Naruto asked apprehensively.

 

“First off, Harissen-san, you’ll have to avoid being seen. There are enough wild rumors spreading from here to Earth Country. Obviously, any other _disturbances_ like the one back at the hospital will _not_ be tolerated,” Sarutobi explained, making sure that what he meant was clearly understandable. As threats went, that was among the most polite that the Dragonborn had ever got. Probably the second most polite.   
  
“So, you want me to never leave cabin?” Conrad asked, glaring at the Hokage.

 

“What cabin?” Naruto asked, being out of the loop on this detail of his uncle’s stay in the village.

 

“For the time being, yes. We need to make sure that Iwa doesn’t believe that their old enemy has returned from the grave. And avoid mass panic in the village.”  
  
“City,” Conrad corrected instinctively.

 

“ _Village_ ,” the Hokage insisted. It seemed that the old man was very attached to that particular terminology, for some reason.   
  
“No seriously, what cabin?!” Naruto asked again, glancing from one man to another frustratedly.

 

“Your uncle and his students have been given… _lodgings_ in a cabin in the woods above the Hokage Monument,” Sarutobi explained.   


“ _Lodgings_ , he says,” Conrad muttered sarcastically. “At least _view_ is nice…”

 

“Wait,” Naruto said, looking up towards his uncle with a hopeful look. “Does that mean that you’re… staying in Konoha?”

  
“Yes,” the Nord said, after exchanging a glance with Sarutobi. “For bit.”

 

“That’s so cool!” the boy exclaimed, as he started to look ready to bounce around in excitement. “Can I come to visit?! Can I?!”

 

“Maybe it would—”

 

“Of course you can,” Conrad quickly said, locking eyes with the Hokage once again. This time it wasn’t a brief glance. This time it was an actual staring contest, a mean for a battle of wills without causing a scene in front of his nephew. “Right?”

 

Conrad knew he was playing dirty, and not in the usual way you play dirty during a fight. But why should he have cared? Obviously the old man cared about Naruto a lot, which could have been for reasons that went beyond such things like “secret son of our deceased lord” detail. Now that Naruto had been told about his newly-arrived uncle, not letting them meet again would’ve been a bad move.  
  
Wicked, even.  


Finally, Sarutobi gave a reluctant nod.  
  
  
“YES!” Naruto yelled, jumping in the air.  
  
  
“On one condition though,” the old shinobi said before the boy could start jumping around in

  
“Uh?” the boy mumbled, calming down immediately.   
  
  
“Don’t overexert yourself: you still have the final phase of the exams tomorrow.”  
  
  
“Oh, that’s right!” Naruto said as if he had completely forgotten about these… exams. “Wait, can I still take part in those? Even now, that I know—”  
  
  
“Being the Yondaime’s son doesn’t give you any special privileges for the exams. Also, would Uzumaki Naruto ever drop the exams the day before the finals?”  
  
  
“Hell, no!” Naruto exclaimed, pumping his fist. “I have to kick Neji’s ass! And Sasuke’s too, I guess.”

 

Conrad briefly wondered what this “exam” was about. Since his nephew was a shinobi apprentice—or something along those lines, at least—then it was probably some kind of test for his skills. And since shinobi seemed to be this place’s warriors, there was probably a _physical_ part in such task. The fact that he wanted to kick those guys—were those even male names?—pointed at some sort of tournament or simulated battle.

 

He would’ve been worried, but if it was something that Naruto was able to take part to, it was probably nothing dangerous. After all, he was a kid. The others apprentices were probably around his age as well. Any fight would’ve probably ended looking more like a brawl between children than a serious match.

 

Before anyone could say anything more, there was a knock at the door.

 

"Come in," Sarutobi called. The door slightly opened, revealing a young-looking shinobi with a large stack of papers and scrolls under his arm.

 

"Sorry to interrupt, Hokage-sama," he said, warily looking at Conrad. "But it's almost time for your appointment with the daimyo's envoy."

 

"Politics," Sarutobi muttered, showing his distaste for the subject with the tone of his voice. Finally something him and Conrad could agree on! "I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short, but there are other things will have to discuss in the future."

 

"Can I go to cabin, then?" Conrad asked.

 

"Are you? Can I come now?!" Naruto asked as well.

 

“I don’t see why not,” the Nord said as he walked towards the door.

 

"Hold it, you two," the Hokage called, stopping him before he could trample the young man blocking his way. "You can't be seen Harissen-san. Especially along Naruto, remember?"

 

"Then how we supposed to—” Conrad asked, before his eyes widened in realization at Sarutobi’s smug smirk. “Oh no. No way. I refuse—"

 

* * *

 

"Put me down!" Conrad growled to the guard that had taken him on the top of the mountain, ignoring the sickness he was feeling once again. Being treated like a piece of... of... luggage!

 

The true source of humiliation, though, was his nephew laughing at his misfortune. A lot.

 

Conrad ignored it at the best as he could. He was a grown man, it wasn't like he cared if a child was laughing at him.

 

As soon as they had been placed on the ground, the masked guards immediately dispersed, apparently leaving the two of them alone. Conrad knew better, though. He would bet that at least four of them were watching the two of them.

 

"You coming or not?" he called for the still snorting Naruto, as he started to walk through the small woods around his not-exactly gilded prison. Still trying to get a hold of his laughs, Naruto followed him. "We probably meet my students, if they were taken back, that is. They little older than you—"

 

"Students? Oh! You mean those guys that were with you!” Naruto said in realization. “They're your students?!"

 

"Yes,” the Nord nodded as they reached the clearing. “They may ask lot questions but—"

 

"That's awesome! It's like you have your own genin team!" the boy grinned at him.

 

"My... what?" Conrad asked, tilting his head.

 

"You know, a genin team! A—Ah, right,” Naruto stammered, sounding somehow disappointed. “You're not a shinobi. That still sounds weird, you know?"

 

"I proud of what I am," Conrad replied. "Wouldn't be any else."

 

"You mean 'anything' else, right?" Naruto offered.

 

"Whatever. Look, they good kids,” he sighed, stopping right in front of the cabin. “Just very, very curious. Too curious. If you don't feel to, no answer their questions. I do it all time."

 

"That doesn't sound... fair. Uncle," Naruto said, adding the last part at the last moment.

 

" _Life_ is not—" Conrad started to say as he opened the wooden door, but his words fell dead as he noticed who was inside the cabin, examining a vial with a potion. "You!"

 

"Harissen-san? What—" Inoichi asked, a bit taken back by being addressed with such an angry tone. Before he could finish, though, Conrad had crossed the small room and punched him right on the nose.

 

"You liar!" Conrad seethed, preparing to give another punch. The other blond man objected to such course of action with a blow of his own, though. The Nord felt a loud crack, and pain immediately spread all over his face. He stumbled back, touching his nose by reflex and he could feel a generous amount of blood flowing among his fingers.

 

The blond bastard had broken his nose.

 

Whatever part of his mind may have told him that getting in another fight with a shinobi may had been a bad idea stopped protesting at the sight of his own blood.

 

"Oh, it's _on_!" he growled as he cracked his knuckles. Then, he all but charged at his fellow Nord—not caring if he wanted to be considered one or not—with a mighty roar.

 

* * *

 

Naruto kept staring as the two men crashed through the room, yelling, grunting, slamming their fists on each other’s face and making quite a mess of the room.

 

"Isn't that... Ino's dad?" Naruto asked idly, a bit confused by the sudden and unexpected violence.

 

"Who is Ino?" a boy Naruto hadn't even noticed asked, not stopping from peeling a potato. If he had been startled from the sudden brawl, he wasn't showing it. Instead he opted to merely stay safe from it, in the far corner of the room, well away from the fight along his two companions.

 

"Uh, she's one of my old classmates," Naruto explained, shooting a wary glance at the cat-thing sitting close by. At least it seemed to be as confused and worried as him about the fight.

 

"Oh, it is little guy that look like master Conrad!" it said, before glancing back to the two men that seemed to be focused only on beating each other to a pulp. "Should we do... anything?"

 

"It's Nord thing," the girl said with a somehow wise-sounding tone, discarding a long strip of potato’s skin. "You two can’t understand."

 

Naruto wasn't sure why his uncle had attacked Ino's dad like that, but he couldn't help thinking that having a family was going to be... interesting.


	12. Of Awkward Family Dinners and Inquire

 

This was by far the most awkward meal Naruto had ever eaten.

 

The room was so crowded that it gave the impression of being smaller than it truly was, and an awkward silence had fallen over the table since the dinner was served. 

 

On one side of the table sat his… uncle, who he had met less than two hours ago. On the other was Ino’s dad. Both men were visibly bruised, and still shooting nasty glares at each other, but at least they weren’t trying to punch each other to a pulp anymore. What was Ino’s dad even doing here, though? Shouldn’t he have been eating with his own family? Not that Naruto didn’t appreciate company during a meal since it happened so rarely, but weren’t dads supposed to do that? 

 

Then there were the three genin—which, he had been told, weren’t actually genin since their teacher wasn’t a shinobi, but he couldn’t think of a better word to call them—who had been watching him like a trio of attentive yet unsubtle hawks, as if trying to gauge his intentions toward their sensei. 

 

Naruto wasn't sure what he was supposed to be doing. He was sitting next to an uncle he’d never known he’d had. An uncle that hadn't known about him either.

 

He knew that they were supposed to talk to each other—after all, this was kind of a big deal. Relatives were supposed to talk about stuff, right?? But there hadn't been much talking at all since they had arrived at his uncle's house. Sure, once the brawl between the two grown-ups had concluded there were some very brief introductions, followed by a few instructions on the arrangements for dinner, but that that was it. 

 

Every attempt Naruto had made to start bombarding his newly-found relative with questions had earned half-hearted—and short—answers in that broken speech the man used, if the questions weren’t just dodged entirely. It was like his uncle was just as clueless about what they should talk about as he was! 

 

Which was just stupid. There were so many things he wanted to ask him! What was the land like where he had come from? Were there a lot of strong people there? How come he could do Haku's ice thing? Was he married? Were there any cousins that Naruto needed to know about? Why was the cat bigger than he was, and able to talk too? And why were the four of them so bad at using the chopsticks?

 

But he had found himself unable to voice them. It was very unlike him, he knew this. Normally, he would've drowned the room with questions, attacking without mercy until his curiosity was sated. But he was too nervous to really try. 

 

Naruto supposed that he could blame the circumstances of how they had met for the awkwardness. He’d  _ punched  _ his uncle. What kind of first impression was that?! He surely didn't want to ruin whatever chances were left that the man would like him, so not annoying him sounded good. For now.

 

Also, he was kind of hoping that he could talk to his newly-found family without an audience staring at him. Well, there were a few things he couldn’t talk about with his uncle, even if they were alone. 

 

Like the Fox trapped in his stomach, which the Old Man, for whatever reason, didn’t want his uncle to know about. Naruto may have been dense, but he understood perfectly why the Hokage had interrupted him and reminded him that the Yondaime had “ _ killed _ ” the Kyuubi. He just didn’t get why his Uncle couldn’t know about it. You weren’t supposed to keep secrets from family, right?

 

Which raised the fact that the Yondaime was also his dad—and his uncle’s brother, of course—which would’ve been very fine and dandy if it wasn’t that he had basically been told that it had been his  _ dad _ who’d sealed the Fox into him. Naruto hadn’t really thought about it when he first learned he’d  _ had _ a dad, but now that it had time to sink in, the bitterness was coming to the surface.

 

How was he supposed to feel about it?! Was he supposed to be mad because it had been his  _ father _ that caused his life to suck so much, or happy because he finally knew who his parents were? 

 

“You not eat?” his uncle asked, interrupting his inner turmoil and attempts at drawing funny things in his mashed potatoes.   
  
“I’m not hungry,” Naruto mumbled as he shrugged. All the life-changing revelations of the day were messing with his appetite. Besides, it wasn’t ramen. As soon as he had finished saying that, the cat-boy—Tassava or something like that—tried to reach for Naruto's roasted fish, but his uncle smacked his hand—paw?—away with his chopsticks, giving the feline a pointed glare. The other boy, Sven, snickered at his friend’s misfortune, which earned him a light elbow to the side.

 

"You should eat. You're too short," the man said, nudging the plate closer to him. Naruto opened his mouth to protest—he wasn’t  _ that _ short—but his uncle continued, "You have that... exam tomorrow, too. Right? Was that right word, 'exam'?" 

 

"Oh, yeah! We've got the Chuunin Exams,” Naruto explained, forgetting the remark about his stature. ”They're a really big deal, you know! And I made it to the final rounds!"

 

"This is important?" Conrad raised an eyebrow. 

 

"Yeah! And I made it to the final rounds!" Naruto beamed, hoping to make his newly-found family proud of his achievements.

 

"Why?" 

 

Naruto blinked.That wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting. Maybe his uncle had misunderstood what he meant? "Because I kicked Kiba's—"

 

"No, I mean... why exams are so important?" his uncle asked, sounding genuinely confused. Maybe they didn’t have tournaments or exams where he was from? Probably something like that.  

 

"The ones who make it to the top are the best of the best. And I'm going to beat them all!” Naruto tried to explain, boosting his confidence for the impending match. “Especially that smug bastard, Neji." 

 

"That do not explain why they important, boy,” the man grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That is what they do, not why."

 

"It's a contest, but also a performance, in a way,” Ino’s dad answered before Naruto had a chance to reply. “This is the way different shinobi villages show the world how their up-and-coming shinobi stack up against each other." 

 

"... and you use children to show off?" Conrad wondered, frowning in confusion. Looking around, Naruto noticed that even his uncle’s students seemed puzzled by the idea. What was wrong with it? Genin were usually young, nothing strange about that.

 

"Not always, but you see, a big part of it is showing the strength that the next generation will bring to the village," Inoichi replied.

 

"That... make sense, but you should use strong people," his uncle continued. "Why use child when you can—Wait, there are other shinobi cities?"

 

"Villages, Harissen-san. Villages," the Yamanaka said tiredly, which just made Conrad scoff, much to Naruto’s confusion. No matter what, it seemed like his uncle wasn’t able to understand that he was saying it wrong. "It's also an excuse for a diplomatic exchange with dignitaries from the Land of Fire and beyond."  

 

"Right. Hokage was busy with politics," Conrad said, spitting the last word in disgust.

 

"You don't like politics?" Ino’s dad wondered.

 

"Who does?" shot back Naruto’s uncle, as he poured himself another cup of sake. How he could enjoy that so much, Naruto had no idea. Sake wasn’t good for you, right? 

 

"You have a point there, Harissen-san," Inoichi admitted.

 

"Uncle?" Naruto called, trying to catch his relative's attention. This stuff was boring, anyway.

 

" 'Uncle'?!" the boy named Sven interrupted loudly. 

 

"See, I tell you Conrad-sensei wasn't father," the girl—Bata or Baeta or something—smiled, singsonging in a ‘I-told-you-so’ tone. 

 

"But that not explains how he exists!" Sven rebutted, pointing at Naruto.

 

"Small Master must be son of Master's brother," Tassava reasoned. “Or sister. That make Master an uncle, too!”

 

"Stop calling me small!” Naruto yelled in outrage, “I'm not small!" 

 

"Yes you are," the boys replied at the same time, chuckling.

 

“He is Minato’s son,” Conrad said just before Naruto could find a suitable counterback or just throw himself against the two jokers. “I no have sisters.”

 

"The one that the bards no talk about?" Sven asked, sounding af he was remembering something. “How did he arrive here, then?”

 

“With a ship, as a newborn,” his uncle explained after a long sip from his drink. “I not sure, but I think that… our mother was with him.” 

 

“Grandma…?” Naruto asked, in awe. This was what he had wanted to ask! He didn’t have found just an uncle, he had found a whole family! A foreboding doubt made way through his hopes though, as logic told him what the next question should have been. “But… where is she?” 

 

His uncle Conrad remained silent for a moment, before gulping down what was left in his is cup. “I not know. Probably dead, if she was not with Minato.” 

 

The reactions to that were mixed, to say the least, but the room fell silent again because of it. Ino's dad didn't seem very surprised, but a sorrowful shadow had entered his eyes. The not-genin, on the other hand, appeared to be shocked, which meant this was  news to them. 

 

Naruto wasn't sure of what he was feeling instead, it was a mess of emotions that he couldn't fully describe. On one hand he could understand how his uncle felt about it, never having met his mom himself, but a part of him had hoped to know more about his family.

 

“I’m sorry…” he half-whispered, not sure what else he could say.   
  
“Don’t be,” Conrad grunted, quickly filling his cup one more time. “I never met her, I can’t miss her.”

 

"How the heck are you not sad about that?!” Naruto exclaimed, shooting to his feet. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Everyone was supposed to love their mother, right?! “Who cares if you never met her, she was still your mom!"

 

"She left,  _ boy _ ,” his uncle growled, slowly turning towards him. “Why you think she crashed ship on your shores?"

 

"She left...? What do you mean 'She  _ left' _ ?" the genin repeated, incredulous. Surely had heard it wrong. Surely his uncle was using the wrong words again. He didn’t mean what Naruto thought he meant, did he?

 

"Not all marriages last. She left. I... learn to not ask of it." 

 

Naruto clenched his jaw as his fear was confirmed. His uncle’s mom actually abandoned him. Somehow, that sounded even worse than never meeting her. What kind of a parent would just  _ leave _ ?

 

“Good thing for you, too,” Conrad murmured, before taking another drink.    
  
“What? Why would it be a good thing?!” Naruto asked. There was  _ no way _ there was anything remotely good in that.   
  


“If Mother not came here, your father never met  _ your _ mother,” his uncle explained with a smirk. “Lucky bastard…”

 

Ino’s dad started coughing out of nowhere, as if he was choking on something. The girl that his uncle brought with him had turned completely red, and that freaky cat person and the last student were trying not to laugh for some reason, but Naruto wasn’t really paying attention. He was still distracted by the implication of his uncle’s words.   
  


"What... what about grandpa?" he asked, suddenly willingly to change the topic.

 

"Our town was burned by Alduin. I never see him after that,” Conrad said, his gaze lost in distant memories. “Could be dead, too." 

 

Naruto had been sure that nothing would’ve shocked him again, not after the day of revelations he had went through, but he had just been proven wrong. His uncle was an orphan  _ and _ he had lost the place where he was from? The young genin bit his lips at the thought, he had no idea what he would do if something bad ever happened to Konoha. 

 

"Who is Alduin?" Inoichi asked all of sudden, much to Naruto’s confusion. How was  _ that _ important? “Is he an enemy of your people?   
  
Oh. That  _ did  _ sound like an important question, now that he thought about it.

 

“Is long story, very long story,” the foreigner sighed, which only seemed to encourage the jonin into pressing the matter. 

 

“Can’t you make it simple?” 

 

“Alduin was dragon,” Conrad said, finally putting down his drink. “ _ Was _ . Big one, too.”

 

“You have  _ dragons _ where you are from?” Naruto asked, incredulous. “And one of them burned down your home?” 

 

“Not before twenty years ago,” his uncle muttered.   
  
“What?” Naruto furrowed his brow in confusion.   
  
“They come back. Big surprise for everyone,” Conrad explained in a way that told Naruto the man was really irritated by the fact. 

 

“I thought dragons were fairytales,” Naruto argued. 

 

“Lots of tales are real,” his uncle slowly said, looking at the cup in front of him. “I’ve learned such.”

 

“So, uhm...  you people have story about dragons, too?” Beta timidly asked. 

 

“It make sense, since this is Akavir,” the boy named Sven reasoned.

 

"Akavir?” Naruto repeated, intrigued by the unfamiliar word. “What's that?" 

 

"Name of this land,” Conrad elaborated. “Or it used to be. I think you all forgot about it."

 

"You're making this up, uncle. How can you forget about a place's name?" 

 

"Time erase everything," the man replied, with a tone that sounded a bit like the one Iruka used when he tried to say something deep. Naruto stole a glimpse to Ino’s dad, but he seemed to be confused as much as he was.

 

“Uh... how you know how your brother arrive in Akavir, Conrad-sensei?" the girl asked. “I mean, if he was dead…” 

 

“Minato told me, when I met him in Soul Cairn," was the quick and gruff reply.

 

"Oh, right! That scary place you said his ghost is trapped in!" Naruto nodded, remembering how the Old Man and his uncle had briefly mentioned it. 

 

"... you went inside the Soul Cairn?" Beta asked, slack-jawed just like as her ‘teammates’. "Conrad-sensei... that is..."

 

"Very bad place, Beta. Don’t go there," the man sternly advised. "A... friend gave proof of Minato’s words. I had found a brother I never heard of, and he was dead." 

 

"A friend?”    
  


“Another dragon,” Conrad clarified. 

 

“You have interesting friends, Harissen-san,” Inoichi stated after a few seconds of silence, reaching for the sake for the first time.   
  
“So... what did you talk about?" Naruto asked, curious about his father. 

 

"Not much. He asked me to travel here and talk to the Hokage, I guess." 

 

"What else did you talk about?” he insisted. “You said he told you about Mom, so I was wondering..." 

 

"What do you—Oh,” his uncle stopped, grimacing and massaging his temples, as if he had a headache. Maybe he had drank too much sake? “Yes, we... talk about your mother… a little bit. But we not have time." 

 

"Not have time...?" Naruto frowned.

 

"I...  left the Soul Cairn, more or less." 

 

"What do you mean?” the boy asked. “Why would you leave just after meeting your brother?!" 

 

"His ghost," Beta chimed in.

 

"Same thing!" he mumbled. If his dad was in the ghost-place, him being a ghost was a given. There was no reason to remind him of it. 

 

"I had no choice,” his uncle said, looking at him straight in the eyes.   
  
“But why?” he asked, genuinely confused. “Were you forced to leave or something?”

 

“Yes,” Conrad answered, scratching his head as if thinking how to explain it. “Look, it was magic.”

 

"Magic?" 

 

"Magic,” the man repeated. “More simpler way I can explain it. I not know enough words."

 

"You mean 'simpl _ est _ ', Harissen-san," Inoichi corrected him 

 

"Whatever."

 

"Oh. So... you don't know much about my mom?” Naruto asked, crestfallen. “Or how she and dad...?"

 

"I don't, no," his uncle slowly shook his head, before gesturing towards Ino’s dad with an evil smirk. "But he does."

 

"W-What?" the Yamanaka stammered, uncomfortable under the sudden attention.

 

"He  _ does _ ?!" the boy exclaimed, his eyes widening.

 

"He was Minato's friend,” Conrad shrugged. “Guess he know about your mother, too." 

 

“Harissen-san, that’s—” Inoichi protested in a slightly panicked voice.

  
“The Old Man explained a little,” Naruto said, interrupting Inoichi before he could protest. “But I still wanna know a few things! The first is… why are you here?” 

 

“I was tasked by the Hokage to teach your uncle and his students our language,” the shinobi admitted with a sigh.   
  
“You’re not very good at this job, are you?” Naruto asked, staring at the man with obvious judgement. It was clear that the foreigners had not learned very well. 

 

“Hey!” the Yamanaka exclaimed, affronted. “It’s not easy teaching a language when it’s impossible to communicate—”

 

“I have a lot of other questions, you know!” Naruto interrupted him again. “Did you really know my dad? What—”   
  
“That’s an S-Rank secret!” the man exclaimed, trying to stop him.    
  
“I already know it so you better spill!” he yelled back, pointing an accusing finger. “Did you know him? What about my mom? Oh! Did you know that they were my parents?!”   
  
“I—” 

 

“If you knew, why didn’t you say anything? Who else knows? Was Mom strong? I bet Dad was, but I want to know about Mom too! What did they like to do? Did they like ramen?” Naruto continued, not stopping his questioning assault. He was so focused on his interrogation that he didn’t even notice when his uncle quietly left the table with a slight frown on his face.

 

He was finally going to have answers, and nothing would stop him now!

 

* * *

 

A chorus of snores harmonized in the air. Almost musically-so, if Conrad paused to listen.

 

Finally, as the night had come, the boy had collapsed in the middle of his seemingly inexhaustible question. The magelings had retired a little earlier instead, and were providing quite a chorus to his nephew's aria.

 

"Thanks a lot," Inoichi said, more than a little frazzled after living through Naruto's undivided attention, keeping his voice low to not wake up the younger residents of the shack. "I barely escaped." 

 

"The child want to know about his family,” Conrad deadpanned as he he prepared a bedroll for the sleeping boy. “It is natural he curious."

 

"Is this why you left?" Inoichi asked wryly, arching an eyebrow. 

 

The only answer he gave the inquisitive shinobi was a noncommittal grunt.

 

“I am no good with children,” he whispered as he finished his task and got up, moving closer to the sleeping boy.

 

“You seem to do well with your students,” Inoichi pointed out.   
  
“They older. And I no need carry them to bed,” Conrad protested as he picked up the snoring child. 

 

“And you don’t just leave because they make you feel uncomfortable,” the Yamanaka added. The Nord couldn’t deny the statement, he had got used to the magelings’ presence but only after all the time he’d spent with them. Naruto… he was new. Stranger, he was  _ related _ to him. That was not exactly something he had wrapped his head around yet.

 

Once the boy was safely tucked under the sheets, he felt the instinct to ruffle his hair but managed to stop his traitorous hand, frowning at the doubt that crept in his head. Had the idea been his own or was it a remnant of Minato’s memories imprinted into his subconscious?

  
“Why are you here?” he whispered, as he turned towards Inoichi “After accident, I think lessons were…?” 

 

"Let's go outside,” the shinobi answered with the same tone. “We don't want to wake them."

 

After giving one last look at Naruto, Conrad followed the shinobi towards the door, grabbing a bowl of leftovers from the table. Once outside, he raised it above his head and the next second later the bowl vanished as one of the masked guards swooped down to claim their prize. Since his escapade of a few weeks earlier, he had not been allowed to keep any leftovers, but he couldn’t tell if the guards were being paranoid or just petty. He hoped that they choked on them, though.

 

"We out," the Nord said, closing the door. "Talk."

 

"I was asked to accompany your students 'home' after your... ‘encounter’ with Gai." 

 

"How nice,” he snarked.

 

“For your information, I  _ asked _ to accompany them. I didn’t  _ have _ to, but I thought that it would've been better for them to deal with a shinobi they were familiar with.” Inoichi frowned, massaging his bruised and battered face. “Nice sense of gratitude, you have,” Inoichi complained, and Conrad just snorted back.   
  
“You deserve it, and you know it Inoichi,” Conrad said, not feeling the slightest bit of guilt.  “Besides, you break my nose. We even.”   
  
“Seriously? That’s normal for you?”   
  
“Not different from evening at inn,” he shrugged. 

 

“Your land is a strange one, isn’t it?”

 

“It is, sometimes. Saw strangest, too. I will tell about it one day,” Conrad half-smiled, looking at Inoichi straight in the eyes. “You did not just take the kids to shack, though.”   
  
“It’s about your  _ incident  _ in front of the hospital.”

 

“Incident?”   
  
“That fight in the middle of the street,” Inoichi explained, “I was told that there were consequences, although I wasn’t aware that you had met Naruto as well.”

 

“I already speak with Hokage, and—”   
  
“I’m aware of that, and I’m sure that he was  _ disappointed _ by what happened. But that’s not what I meant.”   
  
“What then?”   
  
“There were a lot of people on that street.”   
  
“And they saw me. My face,” Conrad finished for Inoichi, easily guessing where the man was going with this. “That is problem, yes?”    
  
“You would be surprised how large a rumor can grow in just a few hours.”   
  
“People talk. People always talk. I know very well.” Conrad sighed after a moment. It seemed that no matter where he went, rumors would start about him. Same old, same old. “How bad?” he asked.   
  
“Truthfully, I have no idea. I’ve been up here the entire time” Inoichi admitted with a shrug. “But something tells me we’ll be getting a whole lot of trouble soon enough.”

 

“I mean, what it mean for me?” Conrad persisted.   
  
“Oh, it just means that you’ll be even more heavily guarded than before.”   
  
“Not very different then,” Conrad huffed, grimacing at the prospect of even more of those masked guards.   
  
“We can’t have some foreign diplomat see someone that has an uncanny resemblance to Namikaze Minato. It would raise… too many questions.” 

 

“I do this for Naruto, now,” Conrad decided. Inoichi nodded in agreement, and Conrad continued, “But, Inoichi… I have limits.” 

 

“Things will get better in a few days, after the diplomats leave. Just bear with it.”   
  
Conrad grunted and, sensing their conversation was over, Inoichi got up.

 

“Well, goodnight. Try to remember to put a blanket on your students, too,” Inoichi spoke in farewell.

 

“You are leaving?”    
  


“It’s late, and I want to go home. Where  _ my _ family is, you know.”

 

“Do so, then,” Conrad said, shrugging. Far be it for him to keep a man from his wife and children. 

 

Inoichi started walking, then stopped. “I was wondering, though…” he mumbled.   
  
“Mh?” 

 

“How did you convince the Hokage to let Naruto see you?”    
  
“Naruto asked in front of both. I answered first.” Conrad answered, not even bothering to hide the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.   
  
“Ah, I see. You’re the  _ evil _ twin, are you?”   
  
Conrad laughed at that, “Get lost, milk drinker. Let me sleep.”

 

Inoichi left with something that sounded like a confused chuckle, if such a thing existed. It seemed that Conrad would have to teach him about Nord insults as well. It wasn’t  _ fun _ insulting someone if they didn’t get offended.  

 

Bemoaning his lack of a decent verbal sparring partner, Conrad went back inside, turned off the various lights and, after a moment of internal debate, put a blanket over his students so they wouldn’t freeze during the night. He didn’t tuck them in, though. 

 

Lying down on his own bed, the last thought he had before falling asleep was that he had forgotten to ask if Naruto's guardians had agreed to let him stay out for the night. 

 

He guessed that whoever was currently looking after the boy after his parents' death would understand, considering the circumstances. Or they could just say the Hokage had ordered it. 

 

Inwardly shrugging, Conrad decided that he would deal with it tomorrow.

 


	13. Misunderstandings, Doubts and an Arena

The cry of a seagull caught his attention. Conrad admired how the bird soared through the air before falling toward the sea to catch its prey. It emerged with haste, a fish firmly trapped in his beak, wobbling a bit with each flap of its wings, as if it was drunk. 

 

Which was not surprising, given that the ocean was made of mead.

 

Reaching overboard with a cup, he filled it with the sweet nectar. The color, the transparency, the smell… without a doubt, this was the best mead that ever was and ever would be, and even better, he had a whole ocean of it at his disposal. It was  _ his  _ mead, and only his! No one else could have it!    
  
Resolute in his judgement, he moved the cup close to his lips, anticipating the taste— 

 

“Captain, ships to port! They’re chasing us!” the lookout called from the top of the mast. Conrad frowned. Of course someone would try to come between him and his mead. Well, they would have to fight for it. 

 

“Everyone, battle stations!” he ordered, opening his arms wide in a theatrical gesture. He found himself embraced by two lovely and identical women whose outfits would’ve offended any proper lady in any known land. 

 

“Oh, Dragonborn,” the one on the left moaned as she sensually caressed his chin. “Your beard is so…  _ manly _ .” 

 

“Yes, I know,” he answered without taking his eyes away from the horizon.

 

“There’s so many of them,” the one on the right said, following his gaze while playing with the clasp on his cloak.

 

“There are always many,” he sighed. He found himself grasped by a strange discomfort, for reasons he couldn't really discern. Maybe it was just because the position he found himself at the moment rendered it impossible to drink the mead. 

 

The woman on the left hummed and leaned in closer, stretching her neck to reach his ear, as if to whisper something to him. Conrad felt her hot breath tickling him, and eagerly waited to hear whatever voluptuous words she wanted to say.

 

"I'M LATE!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, deafening him. Conrad forcefully freed himself from the women's’ hold as he stumbled away, tumbling over the ship's railing in the process. A brief fall, and he found himself deep in the ocean of mead.

 

Instead of trying not to drown, he cleverly figured that there were worse ways to go and opened his mouth to finally have a taste.

 

Mead, apparently, tasted of cheap blankets.

 

“I’M LATE!” the voice sounded again, still painful to the Nord’s abused hearing. This time, though, it didn’t sound like a woman at all. It sounded more like a loud, young and rather whiny boy.

 

Conrad opened his eyes and realized that he hadn't fallen into a more or less limitless supply of his favorite mind-numbing beverage. Instead, he was trapped in a land of mead-less heathens overly obsessed with rice-based dishes, walking around without shoes and adding stupid words at the end of everyone's names. He owned the only bottle of mead on the whole continent, but he didn't dare drink it yet, because there was no way of knowing when more would be available.

 

He had also gained a nephew in exchange for being a prisoner for the better part of two months. Part of him wasn't yet sure if it had been worth it. 

 

"The tournament’s starting soon! I'm gonna be late!" said nephew yelled as he scampered around the room, trying to collect his belongings and put on his way-too-bright jacket all at once. Even in his mostly-conscious state, Conrad could hear his students stirring and grumbling about being awakened in such a manner. 

 

"Too loud..." one of the three growled, throwing a shoe in Naruto's general direction. It didn't even come close, but at least it caught the boy's attention.

 

"Hey! Watch it!" he yelled, scowling at the magelings as they slowly got up, apparently having surrendered to the arrival of a new day. 

 

"What go on?" Conrad asked, spitting the blankets from his mouth and not even caring about using proper words. It was too early for grammar.

 

"Sorry I woke you guys up," Naruto quickly apologized as he grabbed whatever food he could find in the small pantry. Were those cookies? Since when did they have cookies? "But I gotta go!" 

 

"Is tour important enough to panic?" the Nord asked, rubbing his eyes, wondering what hour it was. 

 

"Tournament, not tour!" Naruto corrected, munching his improvised breakfast. "And of course it's important! I need to become a chunin otherwise I'll never become Hokage!" 

 

Even in his barely-awake state, Conrad's mind analyzed what he had just been told. The statement implied that it was possible to 'become' Hokage. But if the Hokage was the city's leader, as well as the shinobi's general, commander or whatever, it meant it could be attained only through military service. 

 

Unless he was wrong and Naruto had been told he could become Hokage because he was Minato's son. Sadly, he wasn't able to confirm or deny either theory because Minato had forgotten to explain to him how to access the memories that had been forcibly engraved into his skull. 

 

He would have to refrain from making assumptions until he could ask Inoichi or one of the masked curs outside, if he managed to pester them long enough to get an answer. But that wasn't important at the moment.

"Why would you ever  _ want _ that?" he asked. Naruto was ten, eleven at the most. What kid would want to attain a position that required assuming way more responsibility than it was worth, and involve themselves in  _ politics _ ?

 

A wide range of emotions flashed across Naruto's face as he fumbled for an answer. 

 

"I don't have time to explain it," he whispered, frowning, eyes downcast. He walked toward the door. "See you later, okay?"

 

After the boy left, silence reigned for a few seconds. The apprentice wizards stirred in their pallet, and Conrad found himself wondering if he had said something wrong. The boy couldn't have been offended by his question, right? Because that would've just been ridiculous. 

 

Also, what did “okay” even mean?

 

Eh, whatever. The kid would get over it. 

 

"I was having a dream," Conrad bemoaned as he turned his attention back to the important things in life. "Twins, they were."

 

A sudden, grumbling sound caught his attention, but he wasn't sure if it was coming from the pile of youngsters or from his stomach.

 

"Are you three still awake?" he asked them, switching back to Cyrodillic, to which they replied with a noncommittal noise. "Then get up and prepare some breakfast.”

 

A moment later, Sven was promptly thrown out of the sheets by his fellow students.

 

* * *

 

The public had already started to gather inside the stadium in spite of the early hour. So far, only villagers and the odd off-duty shinobi had shown up to more or less peacefully contend for the best seats. The rich merchants and envoys from the various nobles of the lands, who were more interested in getting a good idea of who to hire for their shady business than a good show, had the luxury of arriving later.

 

After all, their seats were reserved.

 

Under normal circumstances, Kakashi wouldn't have been anywhere near the place yet. He would've taken his sweet time, maybe even making a nice last-minute dramatic entrance just to have some fun. 

 

But orders were orders, and the Sandaime's messenger hawk had carried very precise ones. Recommendations to be punctual, a short briefing about a possible threat to Konoha, instructions about what to watch out for during the day's event and the promise of doing unspeakable things to him if he failed to show up before the tournament began. Like burning down his Icha Icha collection. Or worse, send him to teach at the Academy.

 

So here he was, escorting one of his cute little genin to his first Chunin Exam finals. 

 

“Now, remember,” he said, not bothering to even glance at Sasuke. “Be polite to your fellow finalists until you’re actually inside the arena.”   
  
“Hn,” Sasuke grunted, barely acknowledging the jonin’s words. Kakashi inwardly sighed. Whatever Orochimaru used to create that cursed seal of his, it definitely hadn’t helped the kid’s personality.   
  
“And more importantly, don’t underestimate your opponent,” Kakashi continued, a much more serious tone in his voice.

 

"You’ve told me that a hundred of times already!" Sasuke spat, looking straight at him. "I know Gaara is dangerous." 

 

"I don't want to see you end up like Lee or worse, Sasuke," Kakashi explained once again. As much as he trusted his student, this was going to be the hardest battle he had ever fought so far. Setting foot in the arena with a cocky attitude wouldn’t do him any good.

 

Sasuke opened his mouth, more than likely to protest, but ended up not making a sound as his eyes darted down the street. 

 

Kakashi followed his gaze, only to see Naruto walking toward them. He looked more unkempt than usual with an inside-out jacket, unbrushed hair, and specks of crumbs at the corners of his mouth. The kid must have been in one hell of a hurry to get to the stadium.

 

But that wasn't what worried Kakashi. It was Naruto's downcast eyes that got his attention. 

 

"Hn," Sasuke grunted in surprise, confused and perturbed by his teammate’s actions "You look more terrible than usual."

 

There was no comeback to that: no grin, no boasting, no posturing, no reciprocal glaring like usual. Naruto just passed them both, barely sparing them a glance.

 

What the hell had happened while Kakashi was gone? Jiraiya-sama was supposed to  _ train _ the kid, not turn him into an unresponsive drone. Even Sasuke was surprised by this behaviour, as he stared at the blond's back with a raised eyebrow.

 

The genin shot his sensei a questioning look. Kakashi didn’t reply, trying to figure out what was wrong. Maybe Naruto was just nervous about the upcoming match? He was sure that Jiraiya wouldn't have let Minato's son participate if he wasn't sure of his skills, so the kid shouldn’t be all  _ that _ worried.

 

"Well, Sasuke, you already know what you need to do," Kakashi said, making a mental note to ask for an explanation from the Sannin later. "Now I'll just be on my way and—"

 

"Are you going to read porn again?" the Uchiha asked with an annoyed tone.

 

"Yes. Yes I am," he nodded sagely. Technically speaking, he was going to do that as well as meet with the Hokage. He waited until Sasuke was just about to leave, clearly unamused, before speaking again. “Keep an eye on Naruto, would you?” 

 

Sasuke looked at Kakashi for a moment and nodded before turning away and disappearing into the deep bowels of the stadium.

 

Kakashi didn’t linger, and started to make his way towards the Hokage’s box, taking the long route around the bleachers as his mind lingered on what he had just witnessed. He didn’t want to admit it, but seeing Naruto acting so strangely and out of character had worried him more than he’d thought it would. Not even Sasuke’s brooding over revenge during their little training trip had unsettled him as much.  

 

Walking slowly, lost among the crowd that was moving to their seats, was actually good. It allowed him to think over this and be fashionably late—but not too late—for his appointment with the Hokage. Two birds with a stone.

 

Maybe he was just overreacting. Maybe there was no reason to be worried. Maybe—

 

“I’m telling you, it was the Yondaime Hokage!” a voice suddenly yelled from the crowd, bringing Kakashi’s train of worries to a screeching halt. A new thought took its place instead, one that could be fully expressed with a flat ‘what’. 

 

“As if,” someone else denied. Closer inspection revealed the two conversationalists to be two regular civilians sitting a few isles from the shinobi, although it seemed their conversation was catching the attention of a few others. “You must have been seeing things. There’s no way you saw the Yondaime.”

 

“But I  _ did _ see him! I was there!” the first civilian protested. “I even checked some old pictures of the Yondaime, and the guy looked exactly like him!”

 

“Okay, so  _ maybe  _ you saw someone who looked like the Yondaime. That doesn’t prove that he  _ was _ Namikaze Minato.” 

 

“How come?” the first civilian frowned in confusion.

 

“We’re a  _ Hidden Village _ . That means that there’s  _ thousands  _ of people who could’ve used an illusion to  _ look  _ like the Yondaime. Even  _ children _ can use it, my son showed me!” the skeptical man replied in an amused tone. “What did they call it…?”  

  
“Henge,” a third person helpfully supplied. “But I thought that was a physical transformation, not an illusion. Right?” 

 

“Yeah, that one,” the skeptical man nodded. “But how it works doesn’t matter. What matters is that it would explain all these crazy rumors that started yesterday.” 

 

“Look, I’m telling you that I was there! I saw everything!” the first man protested as Kakashi, who had gotten more and more confused as the conversation progressed, was tempted to ask what the heck happened yesterday. “The Yondaime was in a fight with that crazy green dude—”

 

“Crazy green dude?” the third man interrupted. Kakashi was sure he knew who they were talking about. “You mean the one who’s always exercising and preaching about Youth?”

 

“Yeah, him! But anyway, they were fighting in front of the hospital. They were  _ hitting _ each other. It must have been a  _ damn good _ transformation if it didn’t waver even  _ once _ .”

 

A moment of silence descended on the trio of gossipers as they pondered over this. 

 

“But… wasn’t the Yondaime dead?” the second man asked, dubious at his own words. “Against the—”

 

“Maybe it’s the Yondaime’s ghost?” the third man supplied, not very helpfully this time.

 

"Aren't you a little too old to believe in ghosts?" the first man asked skeptically. 

 

"But it would explain the Yondaime's weird ice powers!” the second man replied, feigning shock. “ _ Of course,  _ it’s the only answer! He's back from the cold, frozen land of the dead and—"

 

As the first villager reached over and whacked the second on the back of the head, Kakashi realized that he was wasting his time and immediately stopped listening to their nonsense. Civilians were part of the village, and thus part of what was worth protecting—Will of Fire, and all that—and Kakashi would’ve gladly put his life on the line to protect the village and its inhabitants, of course... but sometimes they just made up the most absurd stories.

  
  


His mind kept wandering back to the strangeness of it, though. The message from the Hokage had arrived the previous day, and the rumors about the fight started yesterday as well. Could the two things be related? 

 

Had it not been for one crazy little detail, he would’ve gladly accepted the explanation that Naruto had posed as Minato—oh, the irony if that was true—for some reason and been scolded by the Hokage because of it. That mighte explained Naruto’s mood from before. 

 

And that little crazy detail was “ice-powers”. 

 

Kakashi made up his mind and turned on his heels. He had already planned to be a bit late to the meeting with the Hokage, mostly for the sake of tradition. He may as well keep an eye out for Gai to have a little chat. 

 

* * *

 

Conrad shifted the small brush he was holding between his fingers. He didn’t know what material the handle was made out of, or from what kind of animal the pale bristles came from. Yet, such a small contraption was incredibly good for its purpose.   
  
The weird-tasting paste that had to be used along with it—which Inoichi had insisted wasn’t poisonous  _ nor _ the fruit of alchemy—was more efficient than simply chewing a mixture of herbal plants, or spending time brewing a potion that helped guard against teeth rot. 

 

For all the annoyance he felt for the Akaviri civilization, given his current experience with them, he had to admit that they had a few interesting contraptions that seemed to make daily life easier. 

 

With that last thought, Conrad finished brushing his teeth and left the toothbrush on the side of the basin. That done, he forced himself to look in the mirror.    
  
An artisan would’ve described the mirror as a perfect craft. Not a bump or a deformation in sight, a completely smooth surface. Said artisan would’ve probably mentioned how such a masterwork should’ve been encased in a fitting frame, maybe with lots of marqueries or gold furnishments, instead of just being put on a wall like that.

  
Conrad didn’t care what an artisan would’ve thought at the moment, though, as he moved his fingers along the ghost of stubble that was growing way too slowly on his chin. It would take weeks before his beard would even be able to pass as a proper one. 

 

For a moment he began thinking about a possible use of the Alteration school to suit his needs, or at least a possible potion that would help. But previous experiences in his younger years had taught him that beards didn't like to be messed with magically.

 

He could still hear J'zargo and Brelyna's laughs.

 

Giving one last glare at his sissy chin—which he blamed on his mother—he left the bathroom, thankful that nobody he knew from back home could witness the damage.   
  
Nobody except for the three students of his, of course.

 

He supposed he could bribe them by teaching them a spell of two in exchange for their silence. Or blackmail them. Blackmail always worked—

 

"Master?" Sven called from the dining table, interrupting the Dragonborn's musings. "We finished cleaning up, and Beta and Ta'Sava are waiting us outside."

 

Conrad nodded absently, retrieving his tunic and preparing to face yet another day of shinobi hospitality. At least he had the prospect of spending time with family, now. Which was strangely nice.

 

"We also finished taking inventory and assessing the damage, as you asked." 

 

"And?" the Nord asked, turning to look at his apprentice. This was actually worth hearing. 

 

"Well... we lost almost all the ingredients we took with us from the ship. Especially the fire salts," the young Imperial said, checking a couple of notes. "That’s what caused the flames, I think. Oh and your alambic was destroyed, but that shouldn’t be a problem. I mean, it was an old, battered thing—"

 

“That alambic was a gift from one of my teachers. It used to be his,” Conrad sighed, ignoring the sudden panic on his student’s face. He really hoped that Tolfdir's ghost didn’t decide to manifest and demand an explanation. Then there was the matter of the fire salts. Somehow he doubted he would've been able to find some in a local store, and he really wasn’t looking forward to wasting time summoning and killing fire atronachs to harvest them. "What about the potions?"

 

"If we count the ones made by us during practice, and the few you made as examples that were spared—"

 

"Numbers, Sven. Just give me the numbers."

 

"We have five healing potions, three magicka restoration ones, six stamina tonics, and one to resist frostbite. Or at least I think it's for frostbite."

 

"... why do we have one for that?" Conrad asked in genuine confusion. "This place is way too warm."

 

"I added the wrong ingredient during practice," the younger wizard admitted, having the decency to look embarrassed.

 

“At least you’ve learned something that will help you once we get back back to Skyrim,” Conrad said, trying to see the silver lining.

 

“Will we even be able to get back?” Sven asked after a moment of silence.

 

“Of course we will!” the Nord exclaimed, harsher than he had wanted to. “Why wouldn’t we?”

 

“It’s just… it’s been a long time since we arrived. We don’t know if the ship will wait for us.”

 

“Yes but they should wait for us until… what’s the date, anyway?” Conrad asked, a bit peeved by the fact of having lost track of time during their imprisonment turned into a forceful welcome to stay.

 

“Beta and I tried to make sense of it all, but these Akaviri use a different calendar,” Sven explained. “We’re not sure of the exact day, but we should be well into Sun’s Dusk’s third week by now.” 

 

Conrad bit his lip, pondering over this. He had agreed—and not coerced at all—with Edyval that the ship would wait for them for two months at maximum, which meant they were running out of time.

 

Greed could hold a man in a place for only so long, especially a smuggler that was sitting on a pile of silver coins. If the Breton had not departed yet, he would as soon as his patience reached the boiling point. That would leave Conrad stranded in this forsaken country, along with three far too inexperienced apprentices. Only the gods knew what was going on back home. He hadn’t planned to stay away for such a long time.   
  
Sadly, his studies and general area of expertise had never really covered magical long-distance communication, unlike the wizards and battlemages of old. Nowadays it was a knowledge that the Synod kept for themselves as a politicking tool, the hoarding bastards. So trying to contact the Winterhold College or some of his allies magically, to ask how things were going, was out of the question.

 

Unless he dared to delve into...  _ alternative  _ methods, which normally he wouldn’t touch with a three-meter long mage’s staff. It was nice knowing that the option existed, but he wasn’t  _ that  _ desperate.

 

Even if he miraculously managed to get back to the ship on time, or find—or  _ borrow _ , if he was forced to—another one, fate had conspired for keeping him in that insufferable city by putting someone in his path.    
  
Albeit, to be fair, Minato should get his share of credit for Naruto’s existence. 

  
Conrad was many things, some of which were not all that praise-worthy. But he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, leave after finding a relative just because it was convenient.

 

He wasn’t like his mother.

 

“You’re thinking about  _ him _ , aren’t you?” Sven asked, much to Conrad’s surprise.

 

“Am I that easy to read, now?” he asked with a snort. He was getting way too used to these kids. 

 

“I’m a wizard,” the young apprentice smiled thinly. “I can do anything.” 

 

“Hah! No, you’re not,” Conrad said, with a short-lived grin. “Not yet, at least. Now come on, let’s join your friends outside.” 

 

* * *

 

Naruto's tunnel vision operated splendidly as he stomped into the finalists' waiting room, ignoring the various people around him.

 

Since he had left the shack, his uncle Conrad's question kept raging in his head. 

 

Why did he want to be Hokage? 

 

The answer was easy, he wanted to become Hokage to be acknowledged by everyone. To force them to acknowledge him and shove how much of a great ninja he was down their throats!

 

Or at least that had been the idea when he was younger. But since then, he’d had people who actually acknowledged him, who  _ accepted _ him! Sure, there were still plenty of jerks who couldn’t stand the sight of him, but he had people he cared for and that was all he really needed.

 

So why did he need to be Hokage now? It wasn’t because he wanted acknowledgement… or at least, not  _ just  _ acknowledgement. Yet he still couldn’t find a good answer for his uncle. Not because he was having second thoughts about his dream, but because he didn’t want to admit to the man just how badly the villagers regarded him.    
  
His uncle might ask  _ why _ . 

 

The thought actually terrified him. Would his uncle leave him if he knew what he was? No, uncle wouldn’t do that. At least, Naruto  _ thought _ his uncle wouldn’t do that. The man had treated him nice enough, considering Naruto had punched him almost as soon as they had met, but despite that, Naruto didn’t actually know him. It had been, what, less than a day? That wasn’t enough time to get to know  _ anybody _ , much less family. 

 

Maybe being ordered by the Hokage not to tell his uncle about the fox was a good thing.

 

Before he could ponder it any further, though, he found himself being grabbed from behind and yanked away from his train of thoughts. Literally. He formed a fist to punch whoever had assaulted him, but stopped when he found himself face to face with Sasuke.

 

"What are you doing?!" the last Uchiha hissed. Naruto immediately regretted not punching him. 

 

"Mind your own business—" he started, only to be silenced as Sasuke motioned to look behind him. Naruto did so, and he was met by two cold, light green eyes. 

 

Naruto had not seen Gaara since that episode back at the hospital, but he doubted the Suna genin's disposition had gotten any better. Then he realized that he had almost collided with him when he had stomping across the room without a care for his surroundings. 

 

He could swear he saw a few grains of sand floating between him and the redhead. He abruptly stopped resisting Sasuke's attempts to distance the both of them from the bloodthirsty teen.

 

"Idiot," Sasuke hissed while Naruto stared at the sand ninja, images of Lee's preliminary match and subsequent crippling flashing through his head. Thankfully, said images were quickly dismissed as the Uchiha released him with a shove toward the wall. "What is wrong with you today? At this rate, you'll end up dead  _ before _ your match with the Hyuuga." 

 

"Shut up! I was just thinking about the match, that's all!" Naruto lied. He didn't want to give the impression that he wasn't thinking about the finals. Besides, it was his own business. 

 

"I hope you're taking this seriously," Sasuke muttered.    
  


"Of course I am! I'm not scared of any stupid Hyuuga!"

 

"Good,” Sasuke said, unconvinced as he glanced at Naruto’s opponent. “Don’t underestimate him.”

 

"Hmph. Not that it matters, it's his fate to lose," Hyuuga Neji scoffed from his place on the other side of the railing, making Naruto realize that the rest of the finalists were there too.

 

“Save it for the match, you two,” a voice called before Naruto could retort in an appropriately creative but probably rude manner. Turning around, he saw that a Konoha shinobi had arrived, although he wasn’t the same proctor from the preliminary matches. Maybe they had decided to go with someone that didn’t cough all the time as the finals’ referee. “Come along now. The public, and the customers, are waiting for you.”

 

* * *

 

Conrad had decided to spend the day teaching magical theory out in the open because of the sudden lack of alchemical equipment and his personal desire to breathe fresh air. All under the watch of the masked guards, of course, who—apart from silently observing—had made it clear that practice of something called ‘jutsu’ was forbidden.

 

Which the Nord was pretty sure meant ‘spell’ in their tongue. 

 

Sadly, the lesson had deviated from his original plan because of the magelings’ tendency to nag him about details.

 

"If such spells exist, then why—"

 

"Because you can't just  _ make  _ rock," Conrad explained as patiently as he could while plucking yet another blade of grass. They may have been forbidden to go too far from the shack but at least the view of the city was nice.   
  


"But there are a lot spells that create things,” Sven countered. “Fire, and—"

 

"No, they don't,” Conrad interrupted. “Combustion is just an alchemical reaction. You use magic to force it happen. Still, you can't create matter from nothing." 

 

"What about ice?" Beta asked. 

 

"Where there's air, there's water. Unless you're inside a burning building," Conrad answered, citing personal experience.

 

“That can’t be the only reason though,” Beta protested. “You can find soil everywhere!”

 

“Not in the middle of the sea,” Ta’Sava pointed out.   
  
“There’s earth at the  _ bottom _ of the sea!” the girl frowned.   
  
“Yes, yes. There’s a lot of earth and rock everywhere,” Conrad conceded, patting the ground he was sitting on. ”But using it for a spell is very taxing.”   
  
“Why’s that?” 

 

"Because most spells would require manipulating the ground. Earth, rock, sand, bricks, it's still solid matter, and grasping it is more difficult than, say, turning water into ice. Then your spell has to shape it, move it, change its appearance or whatever you may have designed," he explained with a huff. “It’s better to use that energy to directly attack your enemy or to protect yourself."

 

"Can you even talk about magic without using combat for context, Master Conrad?" Ta'Sava asked, tilting his ears.

 

"I'm a battlemage, kitten. It comes with the territory,” the Nord said with a faint smile.

 

“What about conjuring it?” 

 

"That would cost even more, because you would have to pull the damn thing from beyond the veil of Oblivion. Unless you want to summon an earth atronach, that is."

 

"There are earth atronachs?" Ta’Sava wondered out loud. 

 

"Why wouldn't there be?" Conrad asked, enjoying the looks on his students’ faces as they realized that they didn’t have an answer to that. 

 

“Have you ever met a wizard that specialized in earth spells?” Sven asked after a moment of silence. 

 

“Yes, I met one once. I think it was eight, nine years ago. She made a living restoring fortifications for the Empire, or nobles that could afford her services—”    
  


A distant roar stopped Conrad before he could get on with the anecdote of that encounter, catching everyone's attention. It was as if thousands of people had screamed all at once in a mix of excitement, cheer and enthusiasm.

 

"What was that?" Beta asked.

 

"How should I know?" Conrad asked, getting on his feet before turning towards the guards and addressing them in their tongue. "What's that noise?" 

 

The two guards didn’t answer immediately, but seemed to have a silent conversation just by exchanging a glance. They were probably debating if they really had to answer, and how much they could say to him.

 

“That was the beginning of the tournament,” the one with a mask that resembled a bird of prey’s head answered.

 

"What," Conrad muttered with a frown.

 

"I said, it means that the tournament—"

 

"Yes I understand that," Conrad grunted. That sounded like half the city had cheered at the same time, which utterly confused him. "Who would care so much for children sparring?"

 

This time they seemed even less eager to answer, much to Conrad’s annoyance. If there was one thing Conrad had learned quickly about shinobi, it was that they were so paranoid that he had no idea how they even managed to go to the outhouse without checking for spies and traitors.

 

“What do you mean by that, Harissen-san?” the birdie asked with what sounded like genuine confusion, as yet another roar echoed from the distance. 

 

"I think it’s coming from over there," Beta said, pointing to the city in the distance. "From that oval-shaped building."

 

"That's not an oval, it's a round!" Sven said, before looking at the building with a puzzled expression. "It almost looks like an arena." 

 

"Uh, Ta'sava wonders... did the Akaviri imitate the Imperials' arenas, or is it the other way around?"

 

As much as Conrad would've liked to ponder over that very intriguing historical and anthropological question, he was too busy connecting ugly little dots in his mind. And he did not like the picture he was seeing.

 

"Bird-face," he growled slowly, his eyes glued on the arena that lied way too far away for his liking. "What the tournament consists of, exactly?" 

 

* * *

 

It was over. His opponent was laying on the ground, unable to move and quite shocked to have his worldview proved wrong.

 

"Fate, fate, fate... stop whining about stupid stuff like that," Naruto said, still catching his breath and trying to ignore the pain all over his body. They may call it gentle fist, but there was nothing gentle in getting a beating from it. "Instead of giving up and accepting something you don't like, why don't you just change it?"

 

Neji’s eyes seemed to widen for only a moment, but before he could say something else he heard the proctor yell something. Then the whole stadium started cheering for him.   
  
He had won.    
  
Naruto couldn’t help but grin, ignoring his bruises, and wave happily at the audience. He still had to win the other matches, but he couldn't wait to tell his uncle about his victory!

* * *

  
The Dragonborn’s reaction to the explanation of how the tournament worked, which was just the final phase of the chunin exams Naruto had been gushing so much, was surprisingly reasonable. Cordial, even. In fact, he  _ wasn’t _ roasting the masked guard that had explained it to him alive.    
  
Instead, he was just strangling him. Which was much nicer in comparison. While the idea of applying fire to express his disdain had crossed his mind, it would’ve probably been considered rude. Also, he strongly believed that sometimes it was more satisfying to use his own hands instead of magic to do something.

 

As the masked warrior was gasping for breath, his comrades were trying to restrain the enraged but eerily silent Nord instead of stabbing him with various pointed objects, although that may have been because they had received orders to not kill him and instead, merely reciprocate Conrad’s tact. 

 

Strangely, the magelings had been completely ignored, and were forced to look on as a strange stalemate of pulling, choke-holding and grasping had been reached.

 

“Maybe if we don’t protest too much once this is over, they’ll just force us to fight in their arena instead of being executed on the spot,” Sven mused, while the rest of the trio wondered if they should get involved or not.   
  


* * *

Gareki Ishina’s mood had not improved in the last few weeks. It wasn’t because of the stares or whispers of the crowd, though. She was above such petty things. Civilians’ opinions meant nothing to a shinobi, or at least that what she kept telling herself. 

 

Having to coexist with her enemies for so long, though, wasn’t exactly a cheerful way to spend her time, mission or not. And speaking of the mission, the lack of progress was incredibly frustrating. 

 

All her attempts to locate and infiltrate Konoha's archives had been unsuccessful, mostly because she had been trailed by ANBU shinobi almost the entire time. She had expected it—after all, they would've done the same in Iwa. But slipping away and leaving a mud clone to 'train' her 'students' had taken much more effort than she had anticipated. 

 

Even the rumors going around the village hadn't helped her, since the civilians seemed to be just happy that the weird blue lights that had caused the whole mess had stopped. 

 

She had noticed, though, that there seemed to be a tighter security detail patrolling the village than what would've been usual for the standard chunin exams affair. Especially around the monstrous ego trip that the locals referred to as a monument. 

 

Seriously, what would they do when they finally found themselves out of space on that mountain? 

 

Impracticality aside, the Hokage monument was just that: a monument. And from what she had been hearing, open to the public until recently. Just before the exams, visiting the top had been forbidden with no explanation, and the village had accepted it without question. And just yesterday, even more guards had been added around the secluded area on the top.

 

Ishina hadn't tried to get up there yet, since there were almost as many ANBU operatives as there were in the Hokage's tower—she knew because she had checked. But having to keep her cover as her teammates' sensei had stopped her from attempting a climb up the moment. If Konoha was hiding something, it was surely valuable. 

 

An annoyed groan distracted her, and she glanced at her third 'student' sitting right besides her. 

 

"What's wrong?" she asked.

 

"Somehow, watching Konoha shinobi beating each other up is less amusing than I thought it would be," Kurotsuchi, the Tsuchikage's granddaughter, replied. Of course, she had not called her by her real name in the last few weeks to keep their cover. Which was the same reason why the younger kunoichi had been forced to retire from the preliminaries. As much as she would've liked to compete, Ishina had pointed out that they couldn't afford the risk of someone among the spectators recognizing her. 

 

"You have to admit that this match had an unexpected outcome, though," Ishina pointed out, as she watched the two genin leaving the arena, the loser on a stretcher and the winner on his feet. 

 

For a moment, she felt a strange feeling in her gut. Blond hair and blue eyes. 

 

Could it have been... ? 

 

No, there wasn’t a snowball's chance in hell. The Leaf would have raised the Fourth's son as a goddamn prince. As much of a good fighter he was for his age, that kid couldn’t even dress himself properly. It was just her personal obsession and paranoia going awry.

 

"I suppose," Kurotsuchi mumbled. "It's still better than the match between Mizu and Yano will be once it's their turn." 

 

Ishina would've liked to object to the dismissal of their fellow comrades, but briefly tried to imagine how such a match would've played out from what she had learned during the 'training' sessions. Mizu would immediately hunker down, building bunkers and defensive battlements... and Yano would spend the rest of the match blowing them up, acting like he was Deidara's little brother, in a flashy but boring stalemate. And, of course, they would bicker the whole time. 

 

Not exactly a great moment for Iwa in front of the international shinobi community and foreign dignitaries, and that was her best-case scenario. Ishina shuddered at the idea of the Tsuchikage waking up one morning and finding a missive from Konoha that said “You owe us a new stadium.” 

 

At least, it would make a good distraction for her last recon trip around the village. Today was the last chance they had to complete their mission, because Konoha would probably throw them out as soon as the exams were over. She would've done the same. 

 

The crowd finally became silent as the proctor called the next fighters to the arena. This had been the most anticipated match in these exams, and for a good reason. Everyone was eager to see the Uchiha's skill, Ishiha held no doubts about that, and verify that the power of his bloodline held a candle to the stories they’d certainly all heard.

 

Ishina personally wasn't interested in that very much. She just wanted an excuse to leave send back a mud clone, and move on to accomplish the mission. Kurotsuchi could evaluate the last hope the Uchiha had of existing in her stead.

 

The Suna genin, though... there was just something plain wrong about him. And it wasn't just how eagerly he had crippled his opponent during the preliminary matches. The way he looked at the people in the stands sent cold chills down her spine. 

 

If that Konoha genin wasn't careful, the Uchiha clan risked becoming a footnote in the shinobi world history. 

 

That wasn't her problem, though. With that thought in mind, Ishina lurched to her feet, signaled her companion that the operation was starting and began walking off towards the staircase.

 

She just had to find a secluded area, like the ladies’ restroom, make a little switcheroo trick with a clone and sneak out of the stadium. And that was just the easy part. 

 

Just as she reached the top of the walkway, though, she stumbled into an unexpected problem. 

 

A tall problem. A tall, silver-haired, green-jacket-and-dark-mask-wearing problem. She hadn’t even heard him coming, but standing right at  the top of the staircase, looking down at her, was one of the most infamous shinobi that Konoha had produced in recent years.

 

Hatake Kakashi, the copy-nin, son of Hatake Sakumo, student of the Yondaime, and according to Iwa’s intelligence division, the most probable candidate to succeed Sarutobi Hiruzen.

 

Did she screw up? Had they found out about their mission?

 

No, that wasn't possible. Had that been the case, she would've already been ambushed and carted off to their intelligence division. Instead, he was just staring at her with his only visible eye, which lingered on her hitai-ate for a moment as he seemed to gauge her. 

 

Maybe the jonin in front of her had a personal matter to settle with her, or another Iwa-nin. In any other circumstance, she would've gladly taken part in that, considering her own personal baggage regarding this man's teacher, but—   
  
“Excuse me, have you seen a man wearing an atrociously green outfit?” the son of the White Fang asked, in a bored voice. “Kinda boisterous, yells about ‘Youth’ all the time? Wears his forehead protector as a belt?” 

 

They both remained silent for a moment, while the rest of the stadium cheered at the match everyone was waiting for finally starting below. 

 

“I’m sorry, what?” she eventually managed to ask. 

 

Ishina wasn’t sure how to react to such a weird question. She had half-expected to be attacked, or called out on her intentions, or maybe something along the lines of “We are watching you, scum,” but instead she was being asked about the whereabouts of another Konoha shinobi?

 

“I said—” Kakashi asked again, only to stop as he saw a feather passing between the two of them. Ishina followed it with her eyes, and saw another and another appear all around.

 

It began raining feathers.

 

All around them, people slumped to the ground with their eyes closed. As if they were asleep. 

 

Then, she heard the explosions going off in the distance.   
  


* * *

  
Everyone froze in their tracks. The masked guards, the Dragonborn and the masked guard that the Dragonborn had been trying to throttle. The magelings, too, but they had not been moving much to start with.

 

It would’ve been almost an amusing sight had it not been for the cause of their sudden stop. 

 

Conrad let go of the guard, who collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. When the others let him go with a poignant glare, he moved close to the mountain’s edge to get a better look of the city.

 

A city dotted by black smoking columns, and echoing with panicked screams. A city under siege, something that Conrad hadn’t seen in a long time.    
  
For a moment he thought of asking how the enemy, whoever they were, had already got in the city. Then he remembered that the enemy probably had shinobi of their own on the inside. They didn’t need to breach the walls.

 

As he stood there, sounds of fighting and clashes of weapons reverberating through the city, he realized that most of fighting was centered around the arena in the distance. 

 

Exactly where Naruto was.

 

The next thing Conrad knew, he was running back to the shack, flanked by the guards that were probably thinking that he wanted to escape and chased by his worried students who were shouting questions. He didn’t even bother to listen as he slammed the hut’s door open. 

 

“Stupid, moronic  _ shinobi _ !” Conrad yelled. “Busy with an important event my  _ arse _ !” 

 

If the Hokage didn’t want to tell him the city’s little dirty secrets, that was fine by him. Everyone had some, especially the world’s rulers. He had gotten into enough trouble by stumbling upon way too many to believe that anyone in a position of power was a knight in shining armor. But not being told that the city was at risk of being attacked? That was something he took as a personal offense.    
  
Grabbing his bag, he roughly emptied it onto the table, making a mess of pens, pencils, sheets of paper and whatever else he had kept in there. Then he quickly started putting various potions inside. 

 

“Five healing, three magicka, six stamina,” he recounted with a grimace. “All made by greenhorn alchemists.“ Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though. He was more worried about the lack of armour and weapons, but that wasn’t going to make him balk. No army would. 

 

Leaving behind the useless potion of frost resistance, he closed the bag, strapped it on his shoulder and stormed outside. He was met by a wall of masked guards, who were already on edge for his completely justifiable actions of a few moments ago. 

 

"Halt, sir," their leader called, his voice firm even if it was still a bit coarse. 

 

"Move," Conrad growled without stopping.

 

"We have orders to—"

 

"Don't care,” the Nord interrupted, still advancing. “Move." 

 

"We need—"

 

"There is  _ war  _ out there, or did you not notice with that mask on?!" Conrad asked, finally coming to a stop right in front of the other man. The other guards surrounded him, hands ready on their weapons. 

 

"I did notice. We all did,” the guard with the bird mask said, icily. He was probably pissed. Who wouldn’t be? His city was under attack and he was forced to keep watch over the crazy foreigner. “But we were tasked with keeping you safe here—"

 

"My nephew is out there, where people are dying,” Conrad said flatly, looking straight in the holes of the man’s mask. “I dare you to stop me."

 

The guard stared at him in silence for a few long seconds. After a tense moment with both sides preparing for a brawl, the man finally stepped aside.

 


	14. In Which Shinobi Meet The Dragonborn

 

As he walked closer to the edge, he could clearly hear the chaos the city was spiraling into. War cries, screams, and the clash of weapons filled the air. An explosion went off in the distance and from his vantage point, Conrad tried to figure out where the enemy may have placed their siege engines.    
  
Then he realized that shinobi didn’t  _ need  _ siege engines, not when they could move at such absurd speeds and use magic, jutsu or whatever they wanted to call it.

  
Conrad had to get to the arena as fast as possible, and he knew there was only one way. 

 

"Dur Neh Viir!" he shouted, the power of the words tearing a rift in reality's veil. No reason to hold back.    
  


A dark purple portal sang itself into existence with an otherworldly hum. Within seconds it dispersed, leaving behind a massive creature standing before its summoner on the mountaintop.

 

His students and the guards shouted in a panic, cowering at the sight of the great dragon. Well, his students were cowering and looking in awe. The guards were still doing their best to look stoic, although they  _ were _ brandishing their weapons.   
  


He tried not to gag when the stench finally hit him. It was like someone had suddenly dropped a warehouse of rotten meat in the middle of a mass grave, and the odor instantly turned the gawking looks that his students had been sporting into grimaces of disgust. Even the guards seemed to be taken aback, perhaps even more than the ancient dragon looming by the Nord’s side.   
  
“Since when do dragons  _ stink _ ?!” Beta exclaimed in her mother tongue as she pinched her nose.   
  
“Nevermind that,” Sven quickly said as he tried to steady himself, looking right at his teacher. “You can  _ summon _ dragons?!”   
  
“A couple,” Conrad answered with a grimace. “But normally I don’t call for this one.”

 

“Because it stinks?” Beta asked.

 

“How can you even—”  
  
“ **Qahnaarin,”** Durnehviir rumbled after taking in his surroundings, his head slowly looking over the magelings and the assembled guards. **“Are these the ones we must kill?”**  
  
The sight of the panicked expressions caused by the dragon’s sudden attention would’ve been amusing in any other circumstances. Sadly, he wasn’t able to see the guards’ faces because of those cursed expressionless masks of theirs.  
  
“No,” Conrad said as he mustered the courage to do what he had to. Suppressing a sigh and trying hold back the nausea, he started to climb over the rotting dragon’s neck.  
  
 **“Dovahkiin, what is the meaning of this? I am not Odahviing, I have no intention to be used as a** **—”**   
  
“See that?” Conrad interrupted once he got properly seated, gesturing to the city below. “There’s a war going on. City under siege, plenty of enemies to destroy and a lost kin to find before he gets killed.”   
  
For a short moment the dragon looked upon the ongoing battle before making a satisfied growl. 

 

**“You could have just said that.”** The Nord couldn’t see it from his scaly seat, but he was sure that the warmongering dragon was smiling.

 

As the mighty dragon spread his wings, Conrad turned towards the masked guards that were frantically gesticulating among themselves for some reason. “Keep kids safe,” he ordered in his mangled Akavirian, glancing at his mount.

 

Before they could even protest, the great beast jumped from the cliff, and for the first time in millennia, a dragon was flying under Akavir’s skies.    
  


* * *

**  
** The ANBU stood in silence for several seconds as they watched the dragon fly away. The magelings were clearly in awe. The girl whispered something in her native language, as he stared at their teacher’s summon. The cat-boy nodded in agreement, his tail twitching.

 

“... Sir?” Squirrel said hesitantly. “Did we just… let the prisoner go?” **  
** **  
** “You heard the Hokage. These people are our  _ guests _ , not our prisoners,” Owl explained, his arms crossed. “Besides, we didn’t let him go. He just left.”   
  
“... Yes, sir.”    
  
“But captain, it seems as if he’s going straight where the fighting is more intense,” Badger pointed out, her tone possibly tainted by a trace of amusement. **  
** **  
** "That won't do. We can't let a civilian under our watch wander around a combat zone."    
  
"Didn't said civilian just summon a mythological creature?"

 

"That may be, but he still counts as a civilian," Owl pointed out.     
  
“Yes, sir.” 

  
“Half of you will stay with Hawk here and protect the children,” the captain ordered. 

 

“Hey! We’re not children! I am — uh... six-ten years old!” Sven objected, fumbling with his Akavirian numbers.

 

“The rest of you come with me,” he went on, ignoring the young wizard. “We will track down and protect the… civilian. Move out.”

  
As soon as the instructions were given, half of the team moved as one, doing their best to catch up with the faster dragon.   
  
“If they wanted to protect their home, they could’ve just said so,” Beta said, which prompted a nod from her fellow Tamrelians.   
  
****

* * *

“Kai!” Sasuke exclaimed, focusing to break the genjutsu that almost made him fall asleep. He had not expected Gaara to be a genjutsu user since he had always seen him rely only on his sand, but if the Suna genin thought that an Uchiha would be so easily defeated by an illusion, he was wrong.

 

Gaara took advantage of his moment of distraction and, with a raised arm, sent a wave of sand rushing towards Sasuke. The Uchiha was saved from a premature demise only because his Sharingan registered the incoming attack as soon as Sasuke opened his eyes again, and his reflexes honed during training with Kakashi took over. 

 

An instant after dodging the deadly sand he was across the field, whirling a foot into his opponent's face. Sasuke saw Gaara's eyes actually widen a little before impact. A satisfying crack was heard as the sand covering Gaara's cheek fractured.

 

He escaped just before the sand-user’s so-called perfect defence could catch up with him and crush him to a pulp. He couldn’t help but grin at the knowledge that he was too fast for his opponent.

  
An explosion in the audience distracted him from his thoughts. Before Sasuke could react, there were shinobi fighting all over the stadium. Even the proctor had an assailant engaged with him in the arena itself. 

 

Gaara didn’t seem to be surprised by this turn of events, though, and as Sasuke looked around, stunned at the battle surrounding them, the Suna genin sent yet another wave of sand to envelope him. This time, however, Sasuke wasn’t going to be able to dodge it.

 

His eyes widened in the half second before he was grabbed around the waist. Much to his surprise and briefly-lived confusion, though, he wasn’t squished to a pulp. He was being pulled away, and a quick look revealed that a man—an ANBU, given the mask he was wearing—had snatched him away from the match.    
  
As he found himself being dragged over the stadium walls at shinobi speed, he gave a last look at the building that was descending into chaos. Then he did his best to wriggle free.   
  
“Hey, let me go!” he yelled when the shinobi holding him refused to loosen his grip. “I need to defeat him!”   
  
“The tournament is over, Sasuke,” the ANBU said as he landed on a nearby rooftop. His voice sounded strangely familiar, for some reason.    
  
“Over?” Sasuke asked, jerking free from the ANBU’s hands. The man didn’t make any attempt to stop him.    
  
“Konoha is being invaded,” the masked shinobi continued. “Suna has betrayed you.”   
  
“What do you mean, ‘you’?” Sasuke asked, eyeing the other shinobi suspiciously. “Aren’t you ANBU?”    
  
“Not quite, Sasuke,” the man said in an amused tone, removing his mask to reveal a known spectacled face.    
  
“Kabuto?” the young genin asked, slightly confused. “What’s going on here? You’re a Konoha genin.” 

 

"I'm no genin," Kabuto said calmly, his demeanor completely different from what Sasuke remembered. "And Sarutobi Hiruzen is not my Kage."

  
Sasuke’s eyes quickly widened in realization as he took a step back. “You’re a spy.” 

 

“Correct,” Kabuto said, throwing away the mask. “You see, Sasuke, my master has a special interest in you. But you should know that already by now, am I right?"

 

Sasuke hands instinctively went to the cursed mark on his neck. 

 

"That's right," Kabuto nodded with a hint of amusement. "Orochimaru-sama sent me to give you an... invitation, of sorts."

 

"An invitation?" he asked, trying to ignore the sounds of battle in the distance. If the village was being invaded, there was no way help would arrive any time soon. He was on his own. 

 

"Indeed. He is giving you an offer to join Otogakure. He will train you, and give you the power to accomplish your goal."

 

Sasuke froze as his mind drifted to  _ that man _ . He felt the curse mark flare for a second, even with the seal Kakashi had placed around it. "And what would he want from me in exchange?" he found himself asking. Was he really thinking about it? Leaving Konoha, betraying his village to reach his goal? 

 

"Your loyalty," Kabuto stated as if it was obvious. "And in a few years, your body.”   
  
“My body?” Sasuke asked, taken aback by such request. Had it not been for the fact that he was standing in front of a self-declared enemy shinobi, he would've felt sick. Or at least, sicker than he was feeling all of sudden.  

 

“Orochimaru-sama’s reincarnation technique is not perfect, sadly,” Kabuto explained, in a way that didn’t sound like he was saddened at all. “He requires a new host every three years, and he is really interested in your doujutsu.”

 

Oh, so that was what he had meant. It didn’t make Sasuke feel any better, though.    
  
"I don't think that would be a good deal for me, then,” he said, stalling for time as he dropped one hand to his side in an attempt to look casual. His hand was now much closer to the shuriken in his pouch. “After killing my brother, I must restore my clan."

 

"Mmh, yes,” Kabuto nodded, tipping his chin in a pensive manner. “You may need your body for that." 

 

"Yes. So... please tell Orochimaru that I’m not interested,” Sasuke said, waiting for the facade to drop. 

 

"But you see, Sasuke... Orochimaru-sama doesn't like being told no. This farce was just to see if you would come on your own, or — " 

 

Sasuke moved, throwing three shuriken as a distraction while drawing a kunai from the holster. As Kabuto swiftly dodged the throwing stars, Sasuke jumped at him, aiming to stab him in the neck.    
  
His charge came to a halt as Kabuto’s hand closed on his wrist, and the traitor used Sasuke’s own momentum to slam him to the roof.    
  
“I told you, Sasuke-kun,” Kabuto said with a mocking smirk, producing a syringe from nowhere. “I’m no mere genin.”   
  
“Let him go,” a voice said all of sudden, causing both of them to freeze. “He is mine.”   
  
Sasuke didn’t move his eyes from Kabuto and his syringe until he saw a few grain of sands floating by. Daring to look away, he saw Sabaku no Gaara literally rising from the roof’s edge, his sand keeping him aloft while simultaneously billowing out into an ominous brown cloud. 

 

For a moment, Sasuke met Gaara’s crazed eyes. 

 

“What are you doing here, jinchuuriki?” Kabuto asked, almost disdainfully. Sasuke couldn’t help but wonder what jinchuuriki meant, but he had more pressing matters. He tried to reach for his weapon pouch, but Kabuto put a foot on his free hand. Dammit. “You were instructed on what to do, you’re supposed to be wrecking as much of this place as you can.”    
  
“Let Uchiha Sasuke go,” Gaara repeated, his voice sounding very different from before. Almost more feral. “He must  _ prove my existence!!!”  _   
  
And with that, all the sand around them rushed toward Kabuto, whose eyes widened in utter shock. “Oh, fu—” 

 

Sasuke interrupted the spy’s rude choice of words by kicking him with all his strength, rolling away as the sand passed over where he had been lying. Getting to his feet, he watched the sand envelope his almost kidnapper. Then, it collapsed on itself.    
  
There was a sickening crunch and the Kabuto cried out in pain before being thrown from the roof like so much garbage. 

 

Sasuke was now alone on the rooftop with Gaara. Something brushed against his foot, and looking down he almost panicked at seeing streams of sand snaking between his legs. But the sand just kept going towards Gaara, flowing all around Sasuke’s feet and not harming him in any way.    
  
Was Gaara being  _ fair _ because their match had been interrupted? No, that couldn’t be. He was just playing with him, like a cat with the mouse.   
  
He couldn’t help but feel creeped out, _ really _ creeped out by the way Gaara was looking at him. It wasn’t at all like in the arena. Gone was the cold and expressionless face that Sasuke was used to; but after all, this wasn’t a tournament match anymore. 

  
Concentrating on his chakra, Sasuke started forming his Chidori. Gaara threw himself at him like a sandstorm. 

 

* * *

 

Ishina hadn’t seen it coming. That wasn’t good, because shinobi that got surprised tended to quickly become dead shinobi in such scenarios.

 

The stadium was in a state of chaos. Civilians had all been caught in a massive genjutsu, and an explosion from the balcony reserved for the two Kage had immediately followed.    
  


It didn’t take much time before shinobi from both sides had arrived on the scene, and small skirmishes were escalating in a large battles all over the stadium between the seats of sleeping people.

 

Konoha was being invaded, and Ishina and her team were trapped in the middle of it.

 

Worse, right in front of her stood one of the elite jonin of this forsaken village, who was silently staring at her with his only visible eye as if he was wondering whether she was involved in this. 

 

She was distracted from wondering how she could survive against such an opponent by the sound of metal and an alarmed cry — a cry from a familiar voice.

 

She snapped her head back and saw Kurotsuchi deflecting a barrage of kunai. Ishina’s eyes instantly tracked the kunai’s flight path back to a ninja who was running towards her student, already forming hand signs for a jutsu.

 

Her fingers blurred through a jutsu of her own, but much to her dread it became clear that she wouldn’t be able to finish in time. The shinobi leaped towards Kurotsuchi, the single note symbol in his hitai-ate perfectly visible now as he drew his head back as if to take a deep breath.

 

And then the Yondaime's student was there, barrelling into him like a loose boulder and sliding a kunai into his jugular.

 

The Sound nin dropped to the ground as the Konoha jonin took a defensive position. Two other ninja engaged him, eager to avenge their fallen comrade. 

 

Ishina quickly finished her sequence of handsigns and unleashed the technique. 

 

The concrete wasn't the best to work with, but the bleachers broke apart all the same, forming a crown of hardened spikes around Kurotsuchi and the Konoha-nin that had just saved her. The two men were impaled on the spot.

 

Kakashi of the Sharingan stared idly at the still-twitching corpses for a couple of seconds before turning towards her.

 

"I take it that Iwa is not involved in this?"

 

Annoyed, Ishina almost replied, but the whizzing sound of shuriken announced the arrival of more shinobi — from Suna this time — and they were thrust again into battle.

 

A Suna nin jumped over the spikes, diving directly for Ishina. Before she could react, something scathingly hot soared right over her head, crashing into the shinobi's torso. His screams were short-lived as the lava burned through his uniform, then his body burst into flames. Ishina dodged the flaming corpse falling towards her, turning around to see Kurotsuchi right before her, hands still held together.

 

“You know, that’s really impressive for a genin,” the jonin remarked, a spark of suspicion in his gaze.

 

“We train them well in Iwa,” Ishina replied, hoping that the explanation would be enough in the middle of battle. There was no way it would pass more thorough questioning. As soon as she was able, she was going to have to pull her team out of the village. “I need to find my other two students.”    
  
"Your other students? If they're skilled as this one, I'm sure they'll be fine." 

 

Ishina didn't reply to that. Not because she didn't want to, or because the battle around them made her unable to come up with a suitable rebuttal to a nosy Konoha shinobi. It was the giant purple barrier appearing on the top of a nearby roof that distracted her from that. Even Hatake Kakashi, notorious for being as laid back as he was lethal, seemed to blink in surprise at that for a moment. 

 

"How unyouthful," someone declared loudly. "Hokage-sama is trapped in there." 

 

Said voice belonged to a tall, muscular man dressed in green unitard that left little to imagination. To make it worse, he had the worst haircut Ishina had ever seen. Somehow, the the monstrous eyebrows were the closest thing to normal on his person. It didn’t take a genius to realize that she was standing right in front of Konoha’s Green Beast. 

 

“Oh, Gai. You’re here,” Kakashi said in greeting.

 

“Yosh!” the horrifically green shinobi exclaimed as he punched an enemy with the back of his fist without even looking back. “My eternal rival, it appears that our allies have turned against us during this most youthful exam,” the man ranted without even bothering to lower his voice. "And who would these lovely kunoichi be?" 

 

"Oh, they're two foreign guests that got caught in our own invasion."

 

"Oooh, I see. Quickly, my rival! We must escort our honorable guests to safety!" 

 

"Ah," Kakashi intoned in agreement. "Her two other genin as well."

 

Ishina weighed her options. She could try to find the rest of her team by herself and then attempt to run away and possibly be killed, either ‘accidentally’ from the defenders or by one of the invaders. On the other hand, if she stayed with the two jonin — who were strange, but had not attacked her yet — she could keep her team safe, but there was no way she would be let go once the crisis was over.

 

As she realized that her chances of completing her mission were long gone, a loud roar echoed from the sky, forcing her to look up.

 

What she saw was straight out of legend.

 

* * *

 

Dragon and rider circled slowly above the arena, and for a moment the battle seemed to grow quiet as the beast growled at the fighters below. Conrad ignored it as much as he could and scanned their surroundings, yelling at Durnehviir to get closer. 

 

The purple barrier that had appeared during the brief flight was intriguing. It could've been some sort of protective ritual, but why concentrate it on the roof instead of a larger area? 

 

It didn't really matter to him. He guessed that whatever kind of magic the ninja were trying to use to protect their home was their business. Knowing that they would handle it, he kept scanning the arena.

 

Aside from the shape, the arena didn't resemble the ones Conrad had seen in his travels through the Empire, but the purpose was clear all the same. 

 

Unlike the Empire, though, it seemed that Akavir enjoyed the idea of children taking part in a blood sport. He was planning to have a little talk about this with the Sandaime.

 

Either that or just take the boy and get out of the city. 

 

As Conrad shifted his gaze over to the area reserved for spectators, Durnehviir stopped his glide, flapping his wings to hover in place. Everywhere he looked, he could see bodies scattered across the arena’s terraces. He tried to not think about the chance that Naruto was among them.   
  
The shinobi, having overcome the surprise of seeing a dragon soaring above their heads, resumed fighting and killing each other.     
  
He could feel the dragon's impatience through its muscular neck, but for now it seemed that Durnehviir was content with merely observing the battle.

 

Flickering his fingers, he called to a small ounce of his power to distractedly fuel his spell. A pale blue light left his hand and flew over the arena, never escaping Conrad’s eyes. After a brief flight, it disappeared right at the other side of the arena, close to the edge.   
  
The Nord stretched a bit out from the dragon's neck, as if it would help him see better, squinting his eyes in that direction. There seemed to be a small group of people along  the top rows, made up of adults and children. The adults were obviously trying to keep them safe from the battle, but that wasn’t what had caught Conrad’s interest. 

 

Orange. He wasn't imagining it, one of the smaller figures on the bleachers was wearing orange clothes.

 

Yes, that was the boy. Thank the gods, he had had enough common sense to stay away from the lower stands where the fighting was more fierce.

 

Without any warning, the massive skeletal form beneath him ceased hovering and lurched forward with a few mighty flaps of his wings. The Nord managed to grip the big spinal scales for dear life, while yelling protests to the dragon at the top of his lungs.   
  


“Durnehviir!” Conrad shouted, all too aware of the growing distance between him and Naruto. “Turn back! We’re going the wrong way!”

 

**“Behold, Qahnaarin,”** Durnehviir rumbled as he inhaled deeply, tasting the air.  **“A great challenge waits ahead of us! A worthy foe indeed!”**

 

A worthy foe? What on earth was the overgrown lizard—

 

He heard it before he saw it. He turned his head as the outer city walls burst inward, wood and stone splintering like twigs as a large form appeared from the dust. 

 

Conrad blinked. It was a giant snake. A giant,  _ three-headed  _ snake. 

 

The thing was  _ massive _ , dwarfing entire streets as it slithered into the city proper, contemptuously wrecking the buildings around it with every move. It seemed that when it came to monsters, Akavir compensated for the lack of quantity with quality.   
  
Strangeness, too.     
  
With his luck, the damn thing probably breathed fire. Or lightning. Or acid. Or all three, one from each head.    
  
Conrad could surely understand why the ancient dragon had rushed in the walls' direction. He himself could feel his draconic soul rear its ugly head, enticed by the idea of fighting such an exotic, and more importantly, bigger creature. 

 

A low growl escaped his bared teeth, but before it could escalate in a full-fledged roar he noticed the tiny specks darting around the snake. Shinobi, he bet, invading the city through the breach that had just opened up.

  
Taking a deep breath, he did his best to keep his instincts at bay, forcing himself to remain calm and logical. 

 

Right. Logic. He was a wizard, more or less, and wizards  _ used  _ logic.

 

The city was under attack. Actually, the city's enemies were already inside its walls. Which meant two things for Conrad.

 

First, that Konoha's defences were so ineffective that they had fallen within less than a day of siege, something which he would ridicule them over for as long as he lived. Secondly, that each second he spent on the back of the most smelly flying creature that had ever soared Tamriel and Akavir's skies was a second more that Naruto was left on his own in the middle of a chaotic battlefield. 

 

Clearly, there was only one logical thing to do.

  
“Good hunting,” Conrad said, patting the dragon's scales before leaning to the side and letting gravity take hold of him.   
  


Forcing himself to not look down, he started to weave spells as quickly as he could and tried to not think about what would happen in just a few seconds if he stopped.

 

Slowing down the fall was an obvious priority, so he focused on that first. A half-assed levitation variant on the fly worked splendidly for that purpose, but much to his annoyance the drain was a bit more than he had anticipated. After all, levitation was just applied telekinesis and that kind of magic tended to suck magicka like a vampire sucked blood, no matter how skilled the user was.    
  
He concentrated just enough on the spell until he was what seemed like a survivable length above a house, then released the spell and hastily began casting another one. Magicka burned across his skin, hardening it just before he crashed through the roof.

 

It hurt more than he had expected, but it was only when he finally stopped against a floor, reducing it to a heap of rubble, that he really felt pain.   
  
His skin ached. His muscles ached. His bones ached. Yet he was still alive.    
  
After staring at the almost man-shaped hole above him for a moment, he tried to get up with a groan, ignoring his body’s protests. 

 

As he stumbled into a mostly erect position, Conrad started rummaging through his pouch, only to pause as he felt cold liquid smearing his hands. Dread filled him as he fumbled blindly around the bag's interior. His fingers brushed against sharp edges that would have sliced his hand open if not for his hardened skin, and fearfully, he pulled the objects out. 

 

Broken, shattered,  _ empty  _ vials.   
  
Kneeling down, Conrad turned the bag inside out, letting the contents spill onto the ground. Quickly sorting the broken glass from the still intact phials, Conrad groaned as he realized how many he had lost in the impact. How had jumping looked like a good idea, mere moments ago?    
  
Uncorking one of the few healing potions left, he gulped it down in one go. The taste was beyond terrible, and he pressed a hand to his mouth as he forced himself to not retch. It was probably one of Sven’s. How could a promising chef be so terrible when it came to alchemy? It was pretty much the same thing!    
  
As Conrad thought about one of his apprentices’ future career choices, he could feel a warm, soothing sensation passing through his body. The aching stopped and the pain subsided as the potion’s magic repaired injuries, which he helped further with a simple healing spell.    
  
He took a few breaths before putting the remaining potions back in the bag. It was time to go.    
  
He had a nephew to save, after all.    
  
The street was clear when he left the house he had landed in. Most of the citizens had probably gone to watch the tournament, or fled as the giant snake was sighted. He could hear the fighting in the distance and could see Durnehviir challenging the three headed snake by the wall.    
  
It would have been an interesting battle to watch, but he had more important things to do. Focusing, he recalled the image of Naruto and cast a clairvoyance spell. The familiar blue light left his palm, and he started to follow after it.

 

Then the road broke in a massive wave of earth and he was slammed against a building.   
  


* * *

 

“Got one!” Masumi exclaimed as he felt a sense of satisfaction at seeing his victim impact against the wall.    
  
“Sure, you got a  _ civilian _ ,” Jun sneered at him. “That doesn’t count.”

 

“Is that envy, Jun?” Masumi asked, mocking his comrade from his missing-nin days. Even if it was just a civilian, he was the one that had drawn first blood out of his teammates. Just the first of many, since Orochimaru-sama had ordered them to cause as much damage as possible. Ninja, civilians or visitors, it didn’t matter. 

 

Today was the day Konoha would be painted in blood.

 

“Cut it out you two,” Hisoka, their chunin team leader called. She quickly signaled to advance, and the four-man cell moved as one, jumping above the wrecked street and starting to speed across the rooftops, their eyes scanning for any threats.    
  
The roar of thunder came from behind them, unexpected. Masumi’s eyes widened as they scattered out of reflex just as a bolt of electricity passed through the middle of their formation. Jun wasn’t able to dodge as quickly as the others and cried in pain as the jutsu hit his left arm. As the team landed, Masumi forced himself to not rush to check on his friend’s condition, looking instead in the direction from where the attack had come.   
  
In the middle of the street stood the man Masumi had attacked just moments earlier, who was now calmly dusting off his odd clothes.    
  
Masumi could feel sweat forming on his brow. The man didn’t look like a shinobi, hell, he wasn’t even moving like one. Yet he had thrown a raiton jutsu at them, one they had barely dodged.

 

They all stared at each other for a few seconds, before the stranger opened his mouth, as if to speak. It seemed that he changed his mind very quickly though, since he just closed it and raised one of his arms.

 

There was no warning for what came next, save for the sudden light around their opponent’s hand. No handsigns, no calling of chakra, nothing. Just a strong stream of fire that erupted from the extended hand into their direction.

 

Masumi jumped away, guided by honed instincts. His mind, though, was screaming about what he was seeing. An elemental jutsu being cast without handsigns at all wasn’t possible: it went against the way ninjutsu worked. Jun may have been thinking the same thing, or being distracted by the wound on his arm, because he was enveloped by the jet of flames.

 

The scream echoed through the street even after he’d stopped moving. 

 

Masumi tried to ignore it as much as he could. The mission came before everything. Still, he couldn’t help but feel something inside of him breaking at seeing Jun’s horrible fate. No one deserved a death like that, not even a former missing-nin.

 

Gritting his teeth, Masumi unsheathed two kunai from his holster. A quick shunshin, and he was charging right up to the blond man, slashing at his face and throat. The man’s head jerked aside, and Masumi felt a sense of satisfaction at the idea of having avenged his comrade.

 

It was short-lived though, as instead of the satisfying sound of metal searing through flesh, the Sound shinobi felt like he had just scraped his weapons against stone.

 

The man turned his head, glaring at him. Much to Masumi’s shock, instead of the gaping wounds he was expecting, there were barely two scratches on the stranger’s skin. 

 

Then the man shouted one word that didn’t make any sense.  **“Fus—”**   
  
The stranger said something else, but Masumi didn’t catch it as he was thrown by an unseen force into a wall. Pain shot through his body at the impact, nearly blinding him. 

 

There were flashes of light in his peripheral vision, but he was in so much agony that he 

couldn’t focus on the fight. Maybe he had broken a rib or two, he reasoned. Putting an arm to the ground, he tried to get up. His team needed him.

 

His legs refused to move. With a growing horror, he realized that he could not feel his feet anymore. This… was a problem. He tried to pull himself to a standing position, but quickly realized that it was a terrible idea as pain roared through his upper body. He blinked back tears of agony. Something was broken. Likely his back. 

 

He heard a scream, and his head snapped around, praying to whatever gods there were that it was from the bastard who did this to him.

 

The blond man had used another raiton jutsu with Hisoka as the target. The woman’s body collapsed, twitching even after death. Her murderer just walked over her corpse, uncaring and already sizing up his next target.   
  
The last of his teammates—Ippei, he thought—threw a barrage of shuriken at the enemy, before using a quick substitution to appear right behind the man, a kunai in his hand. He made a movement as if to stab the opponent in the lungs, but it was about as effective as Masumi’s earlier strikes.    
  
The stranger turned into a blur, a purple flash briefly appearing around his right hand. The next moment, the blond man was holding a weird black axe in his hand, its head buried deeply into Ippei’s chest. As the Oto shinobi fell to his knees, gurgling his last breath, the man put a foot on his torso and pulled his weapon free.    
  


He turned to Masumi, annoyance written across his face. That was when Masumi realized that he was going to die there.   
  
He lowered his gaze, resigning himself to his fate as his soon-to-be killer started walking up to him.  _ Walking _ . What kind of shinobi  _ walked _ during a fight, he wondered.   
  


As the man was just a few steps away from him, though, a sudden jet of water slammed into the blond, knocking him flat on the ground several feet away.    
  
Looking up, Masumi saw several figures on the rooftops. Shinobi, part of the invasion force, most proudly wearing the symbol of Otogakure, but there were a few Suna nin as well.    
  
Backup had arrived, probably attracted by the sound of the fight. Masumi felt a wave of relief wash over him and a hint of satisfaction at the idea of seeing the bastard that crippled him die. 

  
Masumi saw something move in the corner of his eyes and turned just to see the enemy get up from a pile of freshly-formed mud, glaring in the reinforcement's direction.    
  
A shinobi quickly flashed through a series of hand signs which resulted in an explosion of fire being thrown in the blond man's direction. 

 

Widening his eyes, the man raised his hand, as if to shield himself from the incoming flames.

 

Much to Masumi and everyone else's surprise, it worked. The flames stopped right before the stranger's hand as if they had hit an invisible wall. As the fire subsided, Musumi noticed a shimmering blur around the man's hand. What kind of jutsu was that? 

 

The other shinobi hesitated, but it was just for the blink of an eye. Soon, more jutsu started crashing against the strange barrier. A water bullet, a earth spike, a flurry of wind blades, everything seemed to be stopped or deflected by the man’s defensive technique. Strangely enough, kunai and shuriken didn’t seem to be affected by it, but they still bounced off without leaving any substantial damage in that stupidly thick skin. 

  
The stranger started to stumble backwards under the onslaught, arm still raised. The shinobi around him smirked as he retreated toward a nearby house, but much to Masumi’s confusion, the enemy produced a flask containing a blue liquid from his pouch and drank it right before disappearing into the building.    
  
Poison, maybe? Could it be that the blond man wanted to die on his own terms instead of being overwhelmed? If that was the case, Masumi wondered bitterly why he hadn’t done it before breaking his back. 

 

Whatever that liquid was, the stranger had backed himself into a corner, and there was no way he’d be able to escape now. Masumi observed as the other shinobi advanced, warily getting closer to the house.    
  
There was a purple flash from the inside, making them hesitate and step back as it turned into a red, glowing light. Then a woman  _ on fire _ lunged from the doorway, throwing fire jutsu at the closest person she saw.    
  
One ninja was cut down by the flames, and Masumi was able to look at her more clearly for just an instant. It wasn't a woman on fire. It was  _ made  _ of fire. She was like an angry, aggressive living flame, contained in a strange black shell making the rest of her body. To top it off, her feet weren't even touching the ground, rather, she was floating just a few inches from the street. 

 

Whatever that thing was, it was not, and probably never had been, human. It was one of the most twisted summons that Masumi had ever seen, and he had seen Orochimaru-sama feed his snakes once. 

 

The other shinobi quickly reacted to such a strange appearance, focusing their attacks on the summoned creature. There was a flash of steel as someone Masumi didn’t know unsheathed her ninjato and slashed it at the fire monster’s head. The sword struck true, cutting deeply into the creature’s neck, from which a rain of embers fell.   
  
The next thing Masumi knew, the thing exploded in a burst of flames, causing him to shield his eyes from the bright light.   
  
What remained of the shinobi that had engaged the summon in melee was now scattered around by the blast, the fire from the explosion quickly covering the whole area in smoke.    
  
Masumi’s ears were still ringing when the stranger emerged again from the doorway, stepping over the body of his own summon, which was quickly disintegrating for some reason. The blond warrior was again wielding an axe, but this time it was much longer and larger, as tall as a man.    
  
He seemed to yell something in… whatever language he—or  _ it _ —spoke. Masumi wasn’t able to hear it well, but thanks to years of training, he could still read the man’s lips.   
  
_ Hun Kaal Zor.  
_   


* * *

Danzo stood in an underground chamber, looking down at a map of the village spread flat over the surface of a large table. On either side of the table sat two shinobi, each operating a radio and reporting the events unfolding around the village to their leader.   
  
“Second team in position, Danzo-sama,” one said. “Waiting for orders.”    
  
“Tell them that their previous orders stand,” Danzo replied, his only visible eye moving briefly to the spot where the team in question was located on the map. “Flank the enemy’s reinforcements, prioritize taking down team leaders.”

 

The radio operator made an acknowledging reply and relayed his instructions. Danzo took a moment to observe the situation. The enemy had already been inside their walls when the attack had begun, and more were currently converging on the village from outside. Forces of both Suna and Oto had been spotted moving through the forests around Konoha, meaning that they had managed to set up staging positions around the village without their patrols noticing.    
  
Someone, he swore, was going to be held accountable for this failure once the invasion was repelled.    
  
Meanwhile, Sarutobi was trapped inside a barrier jutsu above the stadium and locked in a fight against Orochimaru himself. To make things worse, it seemed that Orochimaru had summoned the Shodaime and Nidaime Hokage with a forbidden technique to assist him.   
  
The barrier rendered any attempts to help Sarutobi a moot point for now, and Danzo couldn’t help but wonder how long his old comrade would be able to hold against three formidable opponents. Had it been just Orochimaru, Hiruzen may have even been able to come out victorious, if he managed to find the will to kill his former pupil and the will to follow through with it. 

 

If the barrier didn’t go down soon, though, Konoha might find itself in need of a new Hokage by the end of the day.   
  
“Any updates on Jiraiya’s position?” he asked.    
  
“He was seen moving towards the breach in the walls, Danzo-sama, but there have been no further sightings yet,” one of the operators replied. Danzo nodded in a barely noticeable way and went back to study the map. Jiraiya probably wanted to face the invaders’ summon with one of his own to limit the damage to the village. 

 

“We’re getting an update from the first team: mission successful, minimal casualties,” the radio operator continued.    
  
“Order them to relocate on the western outskirts of the village and begin using hit-and-run tactics on the Suna forces coming from that direction until further notice.”    
  


“Danzo-sama,” the shinobi on the other side of the table called all of sudden. “We have confirmation on the foreigner’s position. He is currently engaging the invaders in the eastern residential district.”   
  
“On his own?” Danzo found himself asking, a part of him genuinely curious about this unexpected turn of events.    
  
“Yes, Danzo-sama,” the ROOT shinobi nodded. “He is showing some unorthodox abilities but it seems that he is faring well, for now.”   
  
“How did he get there?” he asked with a frown. “The foreigners are supposed to be in custody.”    
  
“Our observer reported that he summoned some sort of creature and used it to fly over the village. The ANBU in charge of him let him go.”    
  
Danzo’s grip on his cane tightened for a moment. What kind of fools had Sarutobi put on that guard detail? Even if that man happened to be related to both the Yondaime Hokage and Konoha’s jinchuuriki, it didn’t mean it was a sensible decision letting him to run amok unchecked. Especially during an invasion. He wasn’t from the village, he wasn’t a shinobi sworn to protect Konohagakure and the only place he should’ve spent the duration of his stay was a high-security cell.    
  
But Sarutobi’s judgement had once again been clouded by his emotions and the attachment to the jinchuuriki. 

 

“What’s the situation around the Hokage Mountain?” Danzo finally asked.    
  
“The ANBU team in charge of the prisoners has split. Half of them are tailing the foreigner’s summon as we speak, while the other half is keeping watch on the others.”    
  
“Danzo-sama, the first team reports a… please repeat, first team?” The second radio operator said, pausing as he listened intently to his headset, the faintest trace of disbelief in his voice.  “A dragon,” the shinobi said with a neutral tone, before looking up at him. “Danzo-sama, the first team reports sighting a dragon fighting with the snake that breached the southern wall.”    
  
“A dragon?” Danzo asked.   
  
“Yes, Danzo-sama. A dragon,” the ROOT shinobi confirmed.  
  


Danzo remained silent for a long moment, pondering the implications of the foreigner being able to summon creatures straight out of legend of old. He was attacking the invaders, for now at least. But nothing was stopping him from turning on the Leaf at a moment’s notice.   
  
“Is the third team still getting in position?” he asked.   
  
“Yes, Danzo-sama. They should be—”   
  
“Tell them to pull back. I have a new objective for them,” Danzo said somberly. It was time for Konoha to gain some leverage on this foreigner warrior.  
  


* * *

  
"Naruto! Naruto, wake up!" someone was saying, shaking his shoulder for some reason. 

 

"Mmmh, five more minutes, Uncle," he muttered, trying to roll over and get back to sleep.

 

"What are you—Nevermind that, just wake up!" The shaking grew harder to the point that he felt like his shoulder was about to break. He reluctantly opened his eyes. 

 

"Sakura-chan?" Naruto said, confused. The last thing he remembered was watching Sasuke fight against Gaara. Then feathers had fallen, and sleep overtook him. He sat up and looked around him. They were in a dark cave-like place: the only light streamed in from a small hole at the top. “What's wrong?" 

 

"We're under attack, that's what's wrong. You were caught by a genjutsu." 

 

"Wait, where are we?" Naruto asked getting a look around them. He could see some of his classmates, along with two people he didn’t recognize who were arguing either with each other or with someone that sounded like Kiba.

 

"We're still in the stadium bleachers," Sakura told him.

 

"But, it’s so dark—”

 

"That guy over there made the walls,” she pointed at the bigger stranger in the corner. “And the ceiling."    
  
"Let us out, you moron!" Kiba half-yelled, half-growled all of sudden.

 

"Like hell I am! The two of us are Iwa shinobi in the middle of Konoha during an invasion," the bigger guy pointed to himself and his teammate. "Our life expectancy out of these walls I made is lower than a snowflake's in a volcano!"

 

"I still believe that we could've just made our way to safety using explosive tags," the other Iwa nin muttered, crossing his arms. "Lots and lots of explosive tags..."

 

"Good idea, Yano. That's a great plan,” the big guy said mockingly. “It would only cause the fourth shinobi world war, but that’s no big deal, right?"

 

"Oh as if this bunker you made is going to withstand the fighting outside, Mizu."

 

"Hey!" Kiba shouted, concern written across his face. "My teammate is wounded, she needs to see a medic. You can't keep us here!"

 

"Wait, who's wounded?" Naruto asks, getting up.

 

"Hinata," Sakura explained, and Naruto noticed the prone figures of the young Hyuuga heiress and Shikamaru, both closely guarded by Shino. "We think her wounds reopened."

 

"What?" 

 

"The wounds from her fight with Neji haven’t completely healed," Sakura explained.

 

"Oh," Naruto said. He hoped she was going to be okay. "Was Shikamaru wounded, too?"

 

"No, he was just put to sleep, like you." 

 

"To be honest, I didn't plan on including you in my bunker jutsu," Mizu volunteered in a meek tone. "It was an unfortunate accident." 

 

"Then release us!" Kiba yelled, growling in an almost feral way. Although that may have been Akamaru from his jacket. It was hard to tell sometimes.  

 

"Yeah! Let us go, you... you rock-eater!" Naruto said, catching everyone's attention.

 

"Rock-eater? Seriously?" Sakura asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

"Hey, that was the best I could come up with," he muttered.  

 

"Look, I'm not keeping you here or anything, alright?" the bigger ninja, Mizu, said, raising his arms in a placating matter. "But I am asking you guys to ensure our safety."

 

"Safety? What do you mean?" Naruto asked, tilting his head.

 

"Are you for real, kid?" Yano asked, pointing to the rocks on his forehead protector. "We might as well be wearing targets on our backs right now." 

 

“Actually, we’re wearing them on our heads,” Mizu pointed out.   
  
“Shut up, Mizu.”

 

"Uh, right..." Naruto scrunched his face up in thought. “Well, we could just tell people you're not bad Iwa-nin?”    
  
“ _ Bad _ Iwa-nin?” they chorused in outrage, clearly insulted.    
  
“I mean… you know… not bad people?” he tried to explain, not really helping his case, given the way they glared at him. 

 

Before Naruto could try to clarify what he meant though, they all heard the sound of something metallic being banged against the concrete-made walls 

 

“Mizu? Yano?” a muffled voice called. “Are you in there?”   
  
“Kuro— _ Yuki-chan _ ?!” Yano called loudly, saying the last part of the name in a hurried way for some reason. “Is that you?”    
  
“No, it’s the Yellow Flash,” the voice called back in an annoyed tone. “Open up!” 

 

“Fine, fine,” Mizu grumbled, starting to form hand seals. Once he was finished one of the walls parted away, revealing Kakashi-sensei, Bushybrows-sensei, and a woman and a young girl with Iwa headbands.   
  
“Sensei!” Naruto and Sakura cried out in relief.

 

“Yo,” Kakashi said as a greeting while Gai dispatched an optimistic enemy that had tried to attack the group from behind. “Have you been making friends?” 

 

“Sensei, what’s going on?” Sakura asked anxiously. “There was a genjutsu, and then the Iwa genin raised a rock wall around us, and—”

 

"And Hinata is hurt!" Kiba exclaimed, moving closer to his teammate. "She needs a medic." 

 

"We're under attack. But I'm sure you've already figured that out," Kakashi said as he entered the small alcove, glancing at the three members of Team Eight. "Kiba, Shino, we have a mission for you. You must escort your teammate to the hospital." 

 

"Yosh! Don't you worry for your teammate, the hospital should still be safe,"  Gai exclaimed, before switching to a more serious tone. "But keep a low profile on the way there. Your goal is to take young Hinata to safety, not to put her in danger." 

  
Kiba and Shino nodded, and without wasting time, started to pick up Hinata as carefully as they could.    
  
"Ishina-sensei, Yuki-chan, are you alright?" Mizu asked in a carefully neutral tone, as Yano tensed beside him.

 

"I thought her name was Kuroyuki?" Naruto couldn’t help but ask. At that, the Iwa woman sent a glare in his direction, but Naruto couldn't tell if it was directed at him, her students or both. 

 

"Please stop looking that way at my students,” Kakashi said calmly. “As for you two—and I mean Naruto and Sakura—you should go find Sasuke. He may be in trouble."

 

"In trouble?" Naruto asked..

 

"Last time I saw him, he was being chased by Gaara," Kakashi continued, "You too, Shikamaru. I know you're not asleep." 

 

"Troublesome," said Nara muttered, slowly getting up.

 

"Wait, you weren’t caught in the genjutsu?" Yano asked with a raised eyebrow. 

 

"I thought no one would notice," Shikamaru explained as he dusted off his pants. "So I could just wait until the end of the invasion." 

 

"Wow. You’re either lazy or a coward," Kuroyuki said, not having spoken since the walls had been opened.

 

"Hey! Shikamaru is no coward!" Naruto yelled. “He’s just lazy!” 

 

“If he’s unwilling to protect his village, then he should be called what he deserves,” the young kunoichi said coldly, looking Naruto straight in the eyes.   
  
"Meanwhile, Kakashi and I will stay here to protect our honorable guests from Iwa," Gai proclaimed, ignoring the genin's antics and, more importantly, speaking before anyone said something that could potentially end in bloodshed. "No harm shall fall on them—" 

 

“Hey, who says that we need protection?” Yano challenged, crossing his arms.

 

"The fact that we're on our own in the middle of a warzone,” Ishina pointed out. “In a Hidden Village that is not on friendly terms with ours." 

 

“She has a point, guys,” Kuroyuki said, a bit downcast. 

 

“You three should hurry, you know,” Kakashi said, looking at his students and Shikamaru.    
  
“But, Sensei, how can we find Sasuke?” Sakura asked. Naruto was about to ask the same thing, honestly.   
  
“Oh, right,” Kakashi hummed as if he just remembered something. Then he crouched down, quickly formed a series of hand seals. As he slammed his palm on the ground, a sizeable burst of smoke appeared out of nowhere, revealing a small pug inside of it. “Hello, Pakkun.” 

 

* * *

 

Jiraiya sat on the top of a roof in a half-crouched position, looking at the battle ensuing just a short distance away. 

 

He had been ready to summon some of his toads to deal with the giant three-headed snake that had crashed through the village’s wall, surely Orochimaru’s doing. Before the beast could rampage through Konoha, though, a dragon had appeared and engaged the other scaly beast.   
  


He couldn’t help but gawk at the creature in awe as he watched it giving no quarter to the much bigger reptile. Sure, it was a bit thin and sickly-looking for some reason, but it was a dragon. A  _ real  _ dragon! Fighting a huge summon with three heads as war raged around the two beasts. Yet it wasn’t a genjutsu. He had checked.    
  
He was  _ so  _ going to put this in one of his books, somehow. 

 

But as much as he would’ve liked to stay and see which beast would come out victorious, the village was under attack and there were better ways to use his time than just spectating. Turning around, he saw the purple barrier looming by the stadium in the distance.    
  
For some reason, he had a hunch that that was Orochimaru’s doing, too. 

 

After one final glance to the battling beasts to commit the scene to memory, and he was off, making a beeline for the stadium. 

 

* * *

 

“Yes, I repeat! We need backup!” a shinobi yelled for no apparent reason. Conrad didn't waste time wondering why the man had done such a thing and introduced the man’s torso to the battleaxe he had conjured. 

 

He had always preferred conjured weapons over bound ones. It just didn't feel  _ right  _ to fight with a weightless weapon. A shame that it was illegal summoning them, but thankfully, this wasn’t Tamriel. So the chances of being spotted by one of the Vigilants of Stendarr were very low. 

 

The corpse fell to the ground as he jerked the daedric weapon away. 

 

A rustle of movement was all the warning he got before a shinobi lunged at him, weapons raised. Conrad took a quick step back and struck at the woman with the axe's handle, knocking her off-balance. She quickly got back on her feet, and charged again at the Nord. Conrad waved his hand and inscribed a rune in the ground between them. The ninja ran straight into it, either unable to stop her own dash or just not caring.

 

A wave of cold washed over Conrad as the ice rune exploded beneath the woman's feet, turning her in a macabre ice sculpture. 

 

Conrad raised the battleaxe and let it fall straight on her head. The impact shattered most of it, along with part of her upper body. After what had happened the last time he had put a shinobi under ice, he had to be sure.

 

A yell from behind him made him turn, and he saw that another Nord was sharing his culture with the locals. This Nord had the unfair advantage of being a conjured ghost from Sovngarde though, so he didn’t have to care about such petty things like injuries or death. And he was freaking out the shinobi for some reason.

 

Conrad moved closer to Hakon One-Eye, standing back-to-ethereal-back as the shinobi tried to reorganize themselves. He could see shapes running along the rooftops, which meant that someone had heard the cry for help from before, somehow.   
  
The prospect of having more people to fight didn’t scare Conrad. On the contrary, his blood was boiling in anticipation. After weeks of being cooped up in either a cell or a small shack and being forced to play the part of the nice and reasonable prisoner, the thrill of battle was as welcome as a barrel of honey mead after a long day’s work.

 

Sadly, he couldn’t afford to waste time. He had to finish this quickly and find his nephew. Nothing else mattered. 

 

The idiots that were attacking him didn't seem to grasp that, though. One of them jumped high in the air all of sudden, easily reaching two stories of height like it was nothing. The airborne ninja threw a cluster of throwing stars at him. Conrad covered his eyes with his arm, grimacing. His skin may have been hardened by his spell, but his eyes were not.

 

He felt them slashing at his skin, scratching his arms and shoulders and landing behind him. As soon as the stars stopped buzzing around him, he heard some louder thumps around his feet. 

  
Conrad opened his eyes to take a peek, and spotted four of those puny knife-like weapons planted in the ground, having missed his feet by a long margin. He was about to insult the ninja’s aim when he heard a low hissing sound. Looking down, it seemed that it came from each of the small scrolls attached to the weapons’ handle. Why would a scroll hiss? 

 

A closer inspection, though, made him understand that the hissing didn’t come from the scrolls themselves, but from what was scribbled on them. Interestingly, it almost reminded him of runes—   
  
His eyes widening, Conrad immediately started running away from the scrolls. That's what saved his life in the end. He had not even got past Hakon, who was looking at him with a curious expression, before the runes detonated. The legendary hero absorbed the brunt of the explosion and was sent back to the halls of Sovngarde. Conrad got hit by the debris, flames and blastwave that sent him flying to the other side of the street.   
  
As he landed with all the grace of a sack of onions thrown in a cart, he lost his grip on the daedric axe, which disappeared in a purple blur. He tried to get up as fast as he could, which given that he had just been caught in a small explosion, may as well have been a snail’s pace. 

 

Groaning, he managed to push himself to his knees before being struck from behind. Pain flashed through his back as his attacker came at him again and again, trying to slash at him with a sword. Each time, Conrad yelped in pain. It may not have wounded him because of his spell, but it still hurt like being struck with a mace. A  _ sharp  _ mace.

 

Conrad growled as he quickly became fed up with the hammering, grasping the dirt with his hands before channelling his Voice. 

 

**"Zun Haal Viik!"** he roared as he turned around, and the sword went flying from the man's grasp. The ninja gaped at his empty hand for a brief moment, and Conrad threw the dirt he had in his fist, aiming for the ninja's face.

 

The shinobi saw it coming, though, and raised his arm to shield himself. Conrad rushed him as he got up, slamming the palm of his hands in the man's chest and shooting an electrical discharge at point blank. 

 

The man opened his mouth in a silent cry, losing consciousness as his heart ceased functioning. Conrad gave him a little push and he fell down, spasming like a fish out of water as the energies from Conrad’s spell ravaged his nervous system. The man was either dead or would probably die soon, but Conrad didn't care. He had other things to deal with.

 

He looked at the shinobi observing him from the rooftops, either readying their weapons or preparing some of their spells that required entirely too many complicated gestures to function. 

 

"Spineless sons of a motherless skeever-scat—” Conrad had had enough.  **“MUL QAH DIIV!"**

 

* * *

 

Sarutobi stopped his attack at the last instant, jumping back in a more guarded stance. Orochimaru did the same, and the two resurrected Senju stopped as well, having sensed a lull in the fight even if they had been reduced to nothing but soulless puppets. 

 

Both master and former pupil never took their eyes off each other, as they both felt the sudden appearance of a powerful, menacing presence washing over the village. For a brief moment, it seemed like the fighting throughout the whole village subsided, as shinobi of both sides felt the same. Just as quickly as it had appeared, though, it faded. It didn’t disappear, since Sarutobi was able to detect it in the distance, but it was now significantly less intense than when it had first manifested.

 

The battle around the village resumed. 

 

“What was that?” Sarutobi couldn’t help but ask loudly.   
  
“That would be my question,” Orochimaru said coolly. Even the traitor’s minions, who were keeping the barrier up, seemed perplexed. “I was wondering when you would reveal your trump card, old man. But I wasn’t expecting something like  _ that _ .” 

 

“What are you talking about?” Hiruzen asked, skeptically.

 

“You know well what I’m talking about,” Orochimaru sneered, pointing an accusing finger at him.   
  
“I don’t have time for your mind games, my old student,” Sarutobi said, preparing to spin Enma’s adamantine form at his opponents. 

 

“I know that you created a clone of Namikaze,  _ sensei _ .” 

 

At this, Sarutobi almost dropped the staff, but he was able to catch himself just in time to not look like an old fool. “What,” he said, flatly. He briefly wondered if he had just gone senile all of a sudden. 

 

“I saw the blood test,” Orochimaru offered as the only explanation. “I’m surprised that you would do that. A bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

 

“You’re the last person that should be lecturing me on hypocrisy,” Sarutobi said dismissively. He had his own share of sin, but he had never sunk as low as Orochimaru. “I didn’t allow such experiments, and I didn’t clone—”

 

The Hokage’s voice died in his throat as comprehension creeped subtly into his mind. Minato’s twin. Orochimaru had probably planted at least one spy, maybe more, and one of them had stumbled upon the blood test he had ordered after Harissen-san’s capture. 

 

Not having the whole picture, Orochimaru had jumped to the most logical explanation. At least, logical for someone like him. Sarutobi wasn’t sure which was more preposterous between a clone and a long-lost twin showing up out of nowhere, though.

 

He couldn’t help but smirk at the idea.   
  
“What’s so funny, old man?” Orochimaru asked, annoyance crossing his face.   
  
“Nothing,” Hiruzen said with a small smile. “I just know something you don’t.” Orochimaru narrowed his eyes, visibly annoyed.

  
Before the Snake Sannin could say anything, though, Jiraiya landed on the roof just outside of the barrier. The Toad Sannin gave a cold look at his former comrade, who reciprocated the look twofold. Then his attention moved to the wall of purple light with an interested look, feigning disinterested in his former comrade.

 

“Hello Jiraiya. So kind of you to join us,” Sarutobi said as if he was greeting a genin showing up late. 

 

“Too bad Tsunade-hime isn’t here, sensei. It would’ve been a great reunion,” Jiraiya said, rubbing his chin as he surveyed the barrier. “Hmn. This one is going to be tricky.”

 

“You may want to hurry,” he told his former student, as his  _ other _ former student opened his mouth wide. With a disgusting sound, the hilt of Orochimaru’s trademark sword started to emerge from his throat. Sarutobi spun the staff in a low arc to stop him from unsheathing Kusanagi. Before he could make contact, a tree exploded from the roof they were standing on. Enma crashed against the tree, scraping away bark and wood alike but not even coming close to his intended target. 

 

The Nidaime moved behind Sarutobi, hands so fast that he could barely follow them. Sarutobi substituted himself with one of the still intact shingles and evaded a powerful water jutsu that would’ve surely thrown him against the barrier, if not outright killed him on the spot.  

  
“Don’t rush me, old man,” Jiraiya calmly said as he produced ink, scrolls, and other sealing materials.    
  


The two former Kage rushed forward, and Sarutobi was thrust into battle once again, hoping that his student would bring down the barrier in time. 

 

* * *

 

Raw power was flowing through him. It felt like being on fire and being submerged in an icy river at the same time, yet it wasn’t unpleasant in the slightest.   
  


All the doubts and reservations about using it were gone, like snow in the summer sun.   
  
Power was meant to be exercised, especially over such inferior beings that dared to stand against him. He grinned at them, and the fiery shape surrounding him did the same.    
  
“J-jinchuuriki,” one of the mortals stuttered, sounding almost hysterical. “Jinchuuri—”  

 

With a simple gesture, a lightning bolt struck the mere man in the face. Looking at the way the panic spread among the ninja ranks, the Dovahkiin briefly pondered if ‘Jinchuuriki’ meant ‘Run’. But it was quickly drowned by the satisfaction he felt at seeing most of his enemies turn tail and flee.

  
That was the proper way to react to a dragon’s wrath.    
  
Some brave or foolish souls chose otherwise, though. One of the females rushed at him, trying to chop his head off with a strange weapon that reminded him of a straight sickle. Her aim was true and on mark, but the blade was stopped by his protective aura. 

 

Before she could realize what had happened, the Dragonborn tore the veil between Oblivion and Nirn with a simple spell. With a purple flash, an ice atronach manifested itself in the street. Without hesitation, the daedra struck at the closest person that was threatening its master. 

 

The female shinobi, though, was quick on her feet and managed to jump away in time. The atronach, having lost its target, threw itself at the other shinobi. Uncaring of what his servant was doing, the Dovahkiin looked around, searching for a new quarry. 

 

He spotted a few of the shinobi running in terror at the end of the street. A crazed smile curved his mouth. They should’ve taken the rooftops. Not that it would’ve helped much.   
  
**“Wuld Nah Kest!”** The power of his Thu'um threw him forward, faster than a sabre cat's pounce. In the blink of an eye he had moved to the middle of the group of Akaviri warriors.

 

As he spun around, one of the shinobi managed, probably from sheer desperation, to stab him in the shoulder. He just grabbed the ninja’s hand with his own, so that he couldn’t flee, and slashed the man’s throat with one of his claws, ripping away a good chunk of meat and blood. The man fell, clutching at the gaping wound. 

 

The others backed off, retreating as they threw everything they had at the Dovahkiin. He just kept walking, not even bothering to defend himself. There was no need. A shinobi stood his ground and took a large breath, before shooting fire from his mouth. That actually caught his interest, and for a moment let the flames engulf him. The fire caressed him, but his dragon soul protected him from most of the harm.    
  
The shinobi’s expression when he emerged by the inferno created by his spell was the most satisfying sight he had seen all day. 

 

**“Ven—”** the Dragonborn intoned,  **“Gaar Nos!”**

 

A gust of wind exploded from his maw, hitting the fire-using shinobi and knocking him off his feet. Then the wind quickly picked up, turning into a cyclone that devastated everything in his path. The Dragonborn’s enemies were scattered everywhere, slamming against buildings and each other before being thrown out onto the street. Before dispersing, the small tornado slammed into a house, ripping most of the roof from its frame.  

 

He observed it for just a moment and then shrugged at the collateral damage. Roofs could be rebuilt. 

 

His attention went back to the shinobi, now looking much worse for the wear. Raising his hands, he started to conjure a sphere of flames with slow, powerful motions.   
  
Power was strength, and might made right. That was the dragons’ way, sculpted forever in every dragon’s soul. He knew that he was stronger than every living dragon, he had proven so in the past.    
  
And that power would be unleashed against those who dared to oppose him.    
  


It was with great satisfaction that he let loose the storm of fire down the street.    
  


* * *

 

“I hope Shikamaru will be alright,” Naruto muttered as he leaped from the rooftop.   
  
“I hope so too,” Sakura said as they landed, before taking another leap. Shikamaru had told them to go on as he remained behind to distract a group of enemies, but it still didn’t feel right to the young Uzumaki. They should’ve beat the crap out of them after Shikamaru had caught them with that shadow-grabby-thing he did.    
  
“He knows what he’s doing,” Pakkun, the little dog that sensei put in charge of them, said. “Focus on the mission.”   
  
“Do you still have Sasuke’s scent?” Sakura asked worriedly, as the trio jumped from yet another roof. 

 

“Not much further. We’re gaining on them,” the dog said as he continued sniffing the air without even slowing down. They were almost in the southern outskirts of Konoha now. It seemed that this part of the village had been spared by the ferocious fights that still raged in the distance, but if they kept going, they would end up in the forest that surrounded the village.

 

As they scaled a tall apartment building, a glimpse of movement on a relatively distant rooftop caught Naruto’s attention. As he quickly turned in that direction, he immediately spotted Sasuke’s distinctive duck-butt hair.    
  
“There he is!” he exclaimed, pointing a finger excitedly. Sasuke was standing on top of a roof, apparently not having noticed their presence. 

 

“Thank goodness he’s okay,” Sakura exclaimed with a sigh of relief. Naruto felt a twinge of jealousy at that but decided to ignore it. He had been worried for the bastard, too. Then he realized that something was off about the whole situation.

 

“Wait, where’s that Gaara guy?” he asked to no one in particular as he started looking around. It wasn’t possible that the guy had just let Sasuke go, given how bloodthirsty he was. 

 

“He’s there,” Pakkun half-growled, settling into a more aggressive stance. Naruto didn’t realize what the pug meant until he took a better look at Sasuke’s surroundings. The Uchiha was standing in front of a large sphere that he had dismissed as some weird-looking piece of architecture. Was that made of… sand?   
  
He guessed that that was where Gaara had hidden, but why? Surely not to get away from Sasuke. The more he looked at it, the more he had a bad feeling about the whole situation. Something stirred inside of his stomach, and it sure wasn’t his lunch.    
  
Whatever Gaara was doing inside of his sphere of sand had somehow caught the Kyuubi’s attention.   
  


* * *

No one was left on the entire street. 

  
He was surrounded by scorch marks, craters, and scattered or broken weapons. At the very end of the street he could see his ice atronach running away, probably chasing someone. There were corpses everywhere and at least one of the buildings was on fire. And it was spreading. He wasn’t really sure how  _ that  _ had happened.   
  
Conrad took a deep breath, still covered by the ethereal cloak of his dragon soul. It was done, time to lock the dragon, along with its power, back into the dark hole it had come from.. He closed his eyes, concentrated on his soul and, not surprisingly, was met with a sense of resistance and refusal. 

 

The dragon didn’t want to slumber. It was awake and it wanted to hunt for more prey. It longed for battle and bloodshed, to show to these puny mortals that inhabited this aedra and daedra-forsaken country who was in charge.    
  
Conrad shook his head, reminding himself that he  _ was  _ a mortal. He wasn’t a dragon; he just happened to be born with the soul of one. He was  _ better _ than all the bloodthirsty monsters he had put down during the years, be they dragons or other immortal beings. 

  
He stood for a good minute or two there, inwardly struggling with his soul’s most basic instincts. Conrad wondered what philosophers and priests would say about that. It’d probably depend on what they had felt about Skyrim’s Civil War, he thought, and his role in ending it. 

 

He scoffed. Who cared about what people thought? Certainly not him. He was the Dragonborn, and  _ he  _ was in charge, not his soul. With that last thought, he felt the dragon-shaped mantle disappear, and his mind became clearer. 

 

Dusting himself a little, he felt a sting from his shoulder. Right, he had been stabbed. He picked one of the vials from his pouch and chugged it down. The pain subsided, and the wound—along with all the other scratches over his body—started itching as the flesh mended itself. 

 

As he threw away the empty vial, he heard a whimper of pain close by. Spinning around, he called on his magicka and his hands were covered by lightning, ready to be thrown. One of the men he had just fought was lying against the wall, clearly alive but unmoving. After a moment Conrad recognized him as one of the first ones that had attacked him. Terror was written across his features, and the awkward angle he was lying at pointed to a broken back. 

Conrad lowered his hands, letting the spell die before being cast. Instead, he picked one of the discarded weapons from the ground. It was a short sword that reminded him of the ones Delphine had insisted he become at least comfortable enough with, even if he preferred axes. It would do.    
  
As he walked closer, the crippled man’s face tensed, and desperation creeped in as he realized Conrad’s intent. Looking at him, the man opened his mouth a few times, as if he wanted to say something.    
  
Conrad just drove the blade straight into his heart with both of his hands, making it as quick as he could. The look of shock on the man’s face quickly faded, as did the light in his eyes. 

 

_ Now  _ it was really done. 

 

“Harissen-san?” someone called from his left. Conrad spun around, startled by the sudden voice, yanking the sword from the corpse and preparing for another fight. Then he saw the pair of white masks, and stopped just before taking a swing.   
  
“By Talos, don’t  _ do _ that!” Conrad protested, lowering the sword. 

 

The masked shinobi cocked his head a bit, confused by the unfamiliar word. From what Conrad remembered, he was their leader or something akin to an officer. “Apologies. We merely wanted to ensure that you were not injured.”    
  
"What are you doing here?" Conrad asked as he cleaned the blade off on the corpse’s clothes.

 

"We came here to protect you," the other shinobi said neutrally, as he looked around at the corpses. And the burning building.  

 

"Protection?" Conrad questioned with a puzzled and skeptical look.

 

"You're a non-combatant, at least as far as our ranks are concerned," the leading shinobi explained. "And a guest." 

 

"A what?" he asked in confusion, not recognizing some of the words. Damn language barrier! 

 

“A guest,” the shinobi repeated.   
  
“I understood that,” Conrad said, annoyed. If what had happened to him was the treatment for guests, he didn’t want to know what ninja did to their enemies. “The other word, what that?”

 

"A non-combatant. A civilian." At that, the Nord could only raise his eyebrow in utter bewilderment. "Only shinobi fight for the village."

 

"City," Conrad corrected automatically. One day he would finally make the shinobi realize the error of their chosen terminology.  "You just wanted excuse to protect home, yes?" 

 

Before the shinobi officer could answer, though, more people appeared on the rooftops, jumping from one side of the street to the other. Conrad almost started shooting fireballs everywhere, but quickly noticed that the two masked guards didn’t seem concerned.    
  
It was Konoha’s own forces, finally showing up to save the day. Most of them just jumped from one building to the next—something that Conrad was still finding breath-taking, and he was a wizard—without stopping. But some slowed and jumped down to street level.

 

Conrad recognized one of the trio, and he couldn’t help but smirk at the face the man made when he finally noticed him. 

  
“Inoichi,” Conrad greeted the other blond. “What you doing here?”    
  


Inoichi stared at him in mute shock, probably thinking that the world itself was crashing on him, so Conrad checked his two companions. One was a big, hefty man with a huge mane for hair and, strangely enough, was wearing what seemed to be armour. Conrad had almost started to believe that shinobi were forbidden from wearing armour, or just didn’t know what it was.    
  
He was also looking at Conrad with a stunned expression, jaw half-dropped.   
  
The other one instead had black spiky hair pulled in the most gravity-defying hairstyle Conrad had ever seen, a goatee and battle scars on his face. The way he looked at him, though, was difficult to read. He silently stared at him for a long moment, expressionless, before his gaze moved to the carnage on the street. Without saying a word, he turned towards Inoichi, as if to silently ask for an explanation. 

 

This seemed to shake the other blond man out of his daze, since he suddenly remembered how to speak.  “We were told that there were a lot of enemies in this area, and then there was a huge spike of killing intent…” he started, trying to ignore the looks he was receiving from his comrades. “Was that you?”   
  
“Me?” Conrad asked, wondering what ‘killing intent’ meant. There had been a lot of killing, so it was probably a question about that. “Yes, I kill them.” 

 

“That’s not what I meant—”

  
“Inoichi,” the large man called all of sudden. Even the spiky-haired one seemed surprised by the forcefully neutral tone in his voice. “You knew that Minato was alive, and you told us  _ nothing _ ?” 

 

Oh.  _ Oh. _   
  
Right. He didn’t have his beard anymore. Something for which he would still be mourning if wasn’t a warraging right now. He looked like Minato...

 

“No time,” Conrad said, rolling his eyes. With a flicker of his fingers, he cast a clairvoyance spell. The blue light trailed past the ninja trio, and he just followed. As he passed close by, the spiky-haired man kept looking at him, rubbing his chin.    
  
“Wait, where are you going?” Inoichi asked.    
  


“Yeah, come on Minato. You can’t just—”

  
“Naruto is that way. You deal with this.” Conrad called as he sped up his pace. Seeing that he was leaving, the guards started following him. 

 

“Naruto? As in, Uzumaki Naruto, Chouji’s former classmate?” the fat man asked to no one in particular, before his eyes widened in realization. “Oh, shit.” 

 

The silent, spiky-haired man just turned towards Inoichi as if waiting for an explanation. Inoichi groaned loudly in frustration, already wondering how the Hokage was going to take the news. 

 

* * *

**  
  
** As battles to the death between pre-pubescent teens went, it had gone well until everything went wrong. 

 

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?" Naruto yelled at the top of his lungs as the arm-thing full of claws destroyed the balcony he had been standing on mere seconds ago. 

 

Sakura dodged the inhumanly oversized appendage as well, while the figure it was attached to focused most of his attention back on Sasuke.   
  


"It's Gaara, that arm is made up of his sand!” she exclaimed. “But... his face... it's like part of his body was warped. What kind of jutsu can do that?" 

 

"I don't think it's a jutsu," Naruto said pensively, placing a hand over his gut. It was probably caused by whatever that guy had inside of him. Like what had happened to him on Tazuna’s bridge, but this was worse. Much worse.

 

"What?" Sakura asked absently. Before Naruto could answer, Gaara’s deformed face turned towards him though, and he could fully appreciate the sight of the twisted mouth full of fangs and the inhuman eye that was looking straight at him.    
  
"You... you are the one from the hospital..." Gaara growled, as drool dripped from of the inhuman part of his face. Naruto remembered that encounter very well, even if he hadn’t thought much about it since he had met his uncle immediately after it. Naruto hoped that he was alright, since his uncle wasn’t a ninja.

 

Sasuke suddenly jumped at Gaara from behind, his left hand coated in lightning and emitting a high-pitched chirping. The half-transformed ninja spun around to face the threat, swinging at the Uchiha with his monstrous arm. The Chidori cut straight through the sand like it was paper, splitting the transformed appendage in half, and Gaara cried out in pain. 

 

A cry of pain that quickly morphed into a deranged laugh.

  
“Yes. YES! This is what I’ve been looking for!” Gaara exclaimed, suddenly excited. “Fighting someone this strong… it will prove my existence for sure!” 

 

"Is this guy completely crazy?" Sakura asked, a twinge of fear in her voice.    
  
"No," Naruto replied grimly as he quickly extracted two kunai from his holster. "They made him that way."    
  
She looked at him with a puzzled expression, but Naruto didn’t elaborate further. As he started running towards the roof’s edge, he threw the two kunai at Gaara. The sand-covered boy turned, raising the sand arm in an almost lazy way to stop the two weapons. 

 

Naruto leaped leaped up to join the fight as Sasuke took advantage of the opening he had created. As Gaara’s attention was on Naruto, the Uchiha threw a hail of shuriken in the blink of an eye, aiming for the sand-user’s face. Even if caught by surprise, Gaara only had to move his massive claw-hand in front of him to stop them.    
  
Then Naruto landed with both of his feet against Gaara’s ugly drooling mug, kicking with all of his strength. The impact managed to knock the Suna genin off balance, pushing him back off the roof.

 

“What are you doing, idiot?!” Sasuke asked as Naruto landed besides him.    
  
“Helping your sorry ass!” he replied, crossing his fingers and creating a dozen of clones, knowing that he would need them soon. As a matter of fact, a huge sand arm appeared from the edge of a nearby roof, and Gaara started climbing up like a demon from the pits of hell.

 

“Can’t you help somehow?” Sakura asked, glancing toward Kakashi’s dog summon.   
  
“I’m not much of a fighter, sorry,” Pakkun quickly answered, completely unapologetic.    
  
“Seriously?!” she exclaimed in an annoyed tone. She started rummaging through the equipment in her pouch while her teammates were busy with not dying. 

 

Gaara gleefully ravaged through wave after wave of shadow clones, crushing, tearing or slamming then against the buildings with such strength to make them pop out of existence and leave serious dents in the walls, as well as shattered windows.

 

"Sasuke, follow my lead!" Naruto called as he ran towards Gaara. 

 

"What?" Sasuke asked, confused by either the blond’s overconfidence or by the fact that Naruto had just tried to give him an order.  

 

"Just do it!" he said as he jumped towards the enemy, creating even more clones. 

 

Sasuke followed, muttering to himself about suicidally confident blondes.

 

As Naruto landed, Gaara grabbed the clone right beside him and tore it apart, the sand claws ripping its left arm off and causing it to disperse before it could even yell in panic. Naruto kept moving around the crazed genin, swapping place with his clones or just creating more, so that Gaara was distracted trying to catch him, becoming more frustrated and enraged at the sight of puffs of smoke instead of  fountains of blood.    
  
Seeing Gaara so distracted, Sasuke sprinted, raising a punch to strike. Then, Gaara turned, and seeing his so-yearned-for target stopped caring about Naruto and his clones.

 

"UCHIHA SASUKE!" he yelled, his sand-arm racing towards Sasuke in a way similar to a spear. Seeing Sasuke about to be skewered, Naruto started making hand seals, hoping to not screw it up.    
  
Tiger. Boar. Ox. Dog… Snake? Yes it was Snake! 

 

There was a short-lived blast of smoke and then, a clone had taken Sasuke’s place. The clone actually sent a betrayed look at the original Naruto as the sand claws destroyed it. If Sasuke had been confused by his sudden displacing, he didn’t show it. Instead, he took advantage of his new position to deliver a devastating flying kick aimed at the back of Gaara’s head. There was a crunching sound as Gaara’s sand armour broke around Sasuke’s foot.    
  
Naruto followed his teammate’s example by rushing inside Gaara’s lowered guard and delivering an uppercut punch to the Suna genin’s chin. He saw cracks forming on Gaara’s face, and his clones charged as one to deliver a nice beating on the outnumbered enemy.

 

Gaara blindly spun his arm around with a frustrated growl,  thrashing wildly and yelling nonsense. Naruto felt a flash of pain as the trunk-like sand construct slammed into his chest, sending him tumbling away.    
  
Seeing the edge of the roof getting dangerously close, he quickly grabbed a kunai and planted it into the flat roof. The tile broke, but he was slowed just enough to avoid falling off. One of his clones wasn’t so quick-thinking though and fell with a panicked yell.    
  


Getting to his feet, he noticed that Gaara was having trouble standing up, clutching his head with his human arm while the monstrous one kept swinging around and causing minor property damage. Naruto guessed that sand armour or not, a kick to the head was a kick to the head. Then, realizing that he was inwardly complementing Sasuke, he reminded himself that he had punched Gaara, too. 

  
He saw Sasuke standing a short distance from him, having managed to not be thrown off the roof himself. 

 

“Can’t you use Kakashi-sensei’s jutsu again?” he asked, seeing the relatively vulnerable state Gaara was in.    
  
“I’ve already reached the limit,” Sasuke explained as he retrieved more shuriken and kunai from his weapon pouch. “It’s a jutsu that uses too much chakra.” 

 

Hearing their voices, Gaara stopped thrashing and slowly got back on his feet. He tilted his head, and his inhuman eye burned like molten gold, staring right at Naruto.    
  
“Dammit,” Naruto growled, creating more shadow clones as Gaara leaped at them both in a way that reminded Naruto of a predator pouncing on their prey. While the monstrous genin was still in mid-flight, though, two kunai pierced into the side morphed by the sand and almost immediately exploded, sending Gaara off-course and causing him to crash onto a nearby balcony. 

  
“Did you do that?” Naruto asked Sasuke as his clones kept staring with an array of confused expressions.   
  
“No,” the Uchina said briefly, looking past the blond. Naruto turned around and saw Sakura standing on a roof on the other side of the street, quickly wrapping an explosive tag around a kunai handle. 

  
“Don’t just stand there!” she yelled, throwing the newly-prepped explosive kunai at Gaara. The kunai embedded itself in the balcony’s railing and the tag started hissing. Before the Suna genin could shake off the previous explosion, it went off, causing him to fall down to the alley below. 

 

“Come on guys! Let’s go!” one of the clones shouted before rushing down the building with what may have passed as a decent war cry. All the other clones followed in a similar fashion, to buy the genin team more time. 

 

Naruto and Sasuke took the opportunity to regroup with Sakura and Pakkun while Gaara was besieged by Naruto's clones in a dirty backstreet. Looking down, they saw some villagers running away, scared out of their mind by the battle raging nearby.    
  
“We can’t fight him here,” Sakura said. “There are too many civilians around.”    
  
“Then we lure him away from the village,” Sasuke told them, determined.

 

“How?” Naruto asked. “We could use some clones as bait—”   
  
“He wants to kill me,” the Uchiha interrupted him. “So, I’ll be the bait.”    
  
“ _ Wrong _ ,” the Sand nin's voice said. But what had climbed on the rooftop didn't resemble Gaara anymore. It was a bestial thing, with little or no human features left. His right arm had turned into a long and clawed appendage as well, his face was completely transformed and Naruto could've sworn he saw a tail swinging from the genin's back with deceptive laziness. Gaara was nothing short of a monster now. “I want to kill all of you.” 

 

Naruto, and his teammates as well, stared at the terrible apparition with a mixture of horror and awe. Then Gaara moved. Naruto snapped back to reality and made the hand seal for the Kage Bunshin no Jutsu, pumping as much chakra as he could into it.    
  
A veritable sea of orange appeared between them and Gaara. The clones, true to the original’s nature, charged with reckless abandon, momentarily stopping Gaara’s advance with their sheer numbers. It didn't matter that they poofed out of existence with the slightest blow. They never stopped and there were always more.

  
“Run, you two!” Naruto yelled at his two shocked teammates, who didn’t need to be told twice. The trio started make a beeline for the village’s walls as Gaara’s bestial roars echoed behind them. Naruto didn’t dare turn around. “Run, run, run!” 

 

“How did you even make so many clones?” Sasuke asked as they kept moving. They heard a louder roar from behind them.    
  
“I don’t think now is the time for that!!” 

 

“You get him out of the village, I’ll go get help!” Pakkun told them before jumping away from the group. “Don’t die!”    
  


* * *

 

Sarutobi was getting tired.    
  
Had he been more vain, he could’ve justified it by telling himself that his opponents were three of the most dangerous and powerful shinobi that had ever lived. The simple truth was that he was old. Much older than any shinobi had the right to be. 

 

What had kept him alive so far was the sheer experience he had accumulated in his decades as a ninja and the vast repertoire of jutsu at his disposal. That and the fact that the Shodaime and Nidaime weren’t able to fight at the peak of their power, the only silver lining in seeing his predecessors turned into simple-minded automatons. 

 

He didn’t dare look at what was going on outside of the barrier, because even a simple glance away from his opponents would be inviting death. He was aware that Jiraiya was preparing  _ something _ and that there were more shinobi around the barrier. Hiruzen just hoped that his former student had thought about a way to stop the two mindless Kage, because Hiruzen could only think about one way to do so. Even if it would cost him his life and soul.  

 

Attempting to gain some time before having to resort to  _ that _ , Hiruzen summoned his lagging chakra and released a stream of fire from his mouth, aiming straight for Orochimaru.

 

The flames were promptly stopped by a wooden barrier created by the Shodaime’s Mokuton, while the Nidaime extinguished any flames before they could spread with an suiton jutsu of his own. The impact of water and fire generated a thick cloud of steam that almost obscured the two opponents from Sarutobi’s sight. 

 

Without warning, the thinning mist exploded as Orochimaru emerged from it, Kusanagi ready to strike. Sarutobi raised his own adamantine staff, and metal clashed against metal. Then Kusanagi left a small scratch Sarutobi’s weapon, which yelled in pain. 

 

Sarutobi held fast, sending a silent apology to Enma as he did so. But even if Enma was pretty much unbreakable in his adamantine form, Sarutobi certainly wasn't. He felt his bones creaking as he was pushed back, ignoring the ache in his joints as much as he could.

 

With a great push, he shoved Orochimaru away, their weapons scraping as they parted. Hiruzen found himself panting, trying to catch his breath. 

 

“Getting tired, sensei?” Orochimaru asked mockingly as the two resurrected Kage silently emerged from what remained of the steam. “At your age, you may want to consider retirement.” 

 

“I  _ did _ retire once, did you forget that?” Sarutobi rebutted, leaning against the staff for just a moment. It seemed that he had no other options left. He put his hands together, ready to make the series of seals that would end his final battle, one way or another. Before he could even start channeling chakra, though, he heard a sharp sound, like a cacophony of breaking glass.

 

All around him in the air were purple shards of the former barrier, now falling without purpose and dissolving before they could reach the roof they were all standing on.

 

Jiraiya had actually done it.

  
Sarutobi felt a faint smile forming as the Toad Sannin appeared by his side, accompanied by two of his summons, armed to the teeth. 

 

"Took you long enough," he said without looking in his direction. 

 

“You should know to not rush an artist, sensei,” Jiraiya said.   
  
Hiruzen dared to take a brief look around, and saw that more shinobi had shown, either on the roof itself or on the buildings around it. Reinforcements had come.

  
Looking back at Orochimaru, he could see that his former pupil was absolutely livid. Even his four servants that had held the barrier together didn’t seem to eager to get close to their master right now. 

 

“Orochimaru—” Hiruzen began, unsure of what he wanted to say. Perhaps it would’ve been one last attempt to reach that young and brilliant boy he had met all those years ago. He would never know though, because hearing his name seemed to be the last straw for Orochimaru. With a snarl, the Snake Sannin swung his sword, its blade extending to bridge the gap between former master and student.  

 

One of Jiraiya’s toads deflected the attack with both of its own blades, cleaving the weapons in half.    
  
Chaos exploded on the rooftop, as both sides rushed at each other. Sarutobi saw some chunin and ANBU jump in to face Orochimaru’s followers, while Jiraiya’s summons were trying to keep Senju Tobirama occupied. That left himself and Jiraiya against Orochimaru and Hashirama. 

 

Wood spikes were sent against them, forcing them to move out of the way or be impaled. Orochimaru swung Kusanagi again, trying to cut them down in mid-air. Sarutobi quickly spun Enma between his hands, pushing the elongated blade out of the way. 

 

"That jutsu," Jiraiya said as they landed, his eyes locked on the Shodaime. "It’s the Nidaime's forbidden technique, right? Orochimaru managed to reproduce it?"

 

"Yes. As far as I know the only conventional way to stop it is to kill the summoner," Sarutobi explained. "But my predecessors may do too much damage to the village before that." 

 

"I have an idea," Jiraiya said, producing a bundle of sealing papers from the inside of his kimono. "I'll need you to keep Orochimaru busy, though." 

 

“I think I can manage that,” Hiruzen said grimly, resting the end of Enma’s staff form on the roof. In less time than it took to blink, Hiruzen threw two kunai with explosive tags at Orochimaru’s feet. His student jumped away to avoid the explosion, landing on the branches of the tree that had been created during the fight.   
  
Sarutobi rushed towards him, running over the stalks that had almost impaled him before. Orochimaru started moving towards him as well, with long and fast strides to meet him midway. 

 

Hashirama appeared in Hiruzen’s vision, ready to block Hiruzen to protect Orochimaru. Sarutobi swung Enma with all his remaining strength without slowing  the adamantine staff striking the Shodaime’s cheek. Part of the ancient shinobi’s face exploded in a small cloud of ash as he was thrown off the tree by the impact. 

 

The Sandaime was aware that Hashirama had landed perfectly at the base of the tree, no worse for wear than before. He was also aware that Jiraiya was charging at the Shodaime even before the latter had landed. All his attention, though, was focused on his own opponent.    
  
With eerie flexibility, Orochimaru dodged the staff, Orochimaru’s blade whistling with each slash he took. Once again staff and legendary sword clashed as Sarutobi deflected or parried the attacks he couldn’t evade. Sarutobi decided to remain on the defensive, since he just had to gain some time to allow Jiraiya to accomplish his plan. He prayed it would be enough to stop the two Senju brothers. 

 

Orochimaru made to swing again from his left, and Sarutobi followed with his staff. At the last moment though, Orochimaru spun the other way, and he realized that it had been a feint. Orochimaru’s free hand shot towards him, and a snake sprang from his sleeve, its fangs aiming for Hiruzen’s neck.    
  
Hiruzen swatted the snake away with one of his hands as he jumped back to gain some distance from the venomous reptile. That was when Orochimaru swung Kusanagi again, extending the blade. 

  
Sharp, furious pain like he had never felt before exploded in Sarutobi’s right leg, and he found himself unable to stand. He was falling, having lost his chakra grip on the tree bark. 

 

He landed on what remained of the roof before he could redirect his fall, and found himself on his side, suddenly feeling very tired. 

 

The sound of fighting caught his attention, and he turned just enough to have a look. Senju Hashirama was standing mere meters from him, most of his torso and left arm covered by papers with various seals inscribed on them. Jiraiya was dancing, for the lack of a better term, around his opponent, and Hiruzen noticed that the Shodaime seemed to be unable to move his left arm or rotate his chest. The Toad Sage applied two more paper tags to his opponent’s body, and it seemed to slow the resurrected Kage a bit more. Not bad, for an improvised plan. 

 

He could see the toads and most of the other Konoha shinobi trying to keep the Nidaime at bay, but he knew they wouldn’t be able to handle him for long. Especially with Orochimaru still on the battlefield. Planting his arms on the roof, he pushed, trying to get up.   
  
And promptly fell down on his right side, which made him feel another rush of pain. He also felt colder all of sudden, for some reason.    
  
Looking down at his leg to inspect the wound, he found himself staring at nothing. His right leg wasn’t in the place to which it belonged. He struggled to get a better look, and saw that his limb ended in a bloody stump right below the knee. A large pool of blood was forming, which slowly poured down the roof following its inclination.    
  
His mind fought the tiredness that was overtaking him, and he realized that he was going into shock from the loss of his leg and from the consequential blood loss. He felt hands closing around his right knee, and he had to suppress a yell of pain. Turning around, he saw that Enma, now back in his real form, was packing his stump with his bare hands, while an ANBU was opening a field first-aid kit. 

 

He tried to warn them about Orochimaru, since it was just a matter of seconds before he would come to finish him, but he was calmly told to not overexert himself. Or at least that was what he thought Enma had said to him, he could barely hear their words.    
  
Looking up at the tree, he searched for any sign of Orochimaru, but the Snake Sannin was nowhere to be seen. 

 

Before losing consciousness, he heard Jiraiya yell something that sounded vaguely like a jutsu name, and  there was a bright flash of light. Then, darkness enveloped him.

 

* * *

 

The room was mostly in the dark. Not because it was night, but because the shack had no windows and their guards had ordered them to stay inside with the door closed. So their only source of light were the magical spheres floating above the three of them which, while doing their job perfectly, gave a bit of an eerie atmosphere to the place.    
  
Still better than being locked in the city’s dungeon, though.

 

“Ta’Sava is bored,” the Khajiit yawned, showing an impressive set of jaws. “Do you know any jokes?” 

 

“Be serious. There’s a war out there, people are dying,” Beta admonished with no malice in her voice. This caused Ta’Sava to look ashamed all the same, though. At least for a few minutes. 

  
“Ta’Sava is still bored,” he repeated.    
  
“You know, since we’re alone we could take a peek Master Conrad’s journal,” Sven said, looking at their teacher’s sleeping spot and the few items sprawled upon it, among which said journal stood out.    
  
“Oooh, Ta’Sava likes that idea,” the cat boy said, swiftly getting up to pick up the item that promised to break his boredom.   
  
“Good luck. I think it’s written in Nedic,” Beta deadpanned, which caused her fellow apprentices to turn to look at her.   
  
“How does Beta know that?” Ta’Sava asked, book still closed in his hands.    
  


Beta valiantly withstood her peers’ curiosity for a brief moment before blushing a little and looking away, muttering something about genuine curiosity and trouble getting to sleep. Maybe. Her voice kinda trailed off during that last part of that.

 

Ta’Sava opened his mouth to say something, probably to tease the poor girl, but stopped as his left ear started twitching. “Someone just arrived outside,” he half-whispered. “They’re talking with the guards.” 

 

He had not even finished saying that when his two friends scrambled towards the door to hear what was being said since they didn’t have hearing as good as his. 

 

“What are they saying?” Beta whispered, pressing her ear against the door. “Is Master Conrad back?”    
  
“Hush, I’m trying to listen,” Sven muttered. “I think that another group of guards arrived. They’re saying… something about us?”   
  
“They said… wait, Ta’Sava thinks that the word is ‘move’?” Ta’Sava wondered for a brief moment. “Yes, they said something about moving the prisoners.”   
  
“And here I thought we were  _ guests _ ,” Sven snarked, emphasizing the last word. 

 

“Maybe their enemies are moving this way and they want to take us somewhere safe?” Beta suggested.

 

“That doesn’t justify treating us like criminals.” 

 

“Strange. Ta’Sava thinks that the guards that remained here are not agreeing with—” A sound from outside interrupted the Khajiit. A sound that they would’ve been able to hear even without eavesdropping. 

 

The sound of two blades meeting each other.    
  
“Oh, no,” Beta whispered, her face even paler than what it should’ve been because of the cold magical lights.

 

“I-I don’t understand,” Sven said, a tinge of fear in his voice as the sound of fighting from outside escalated. “What’s going on out there?”    
  
“Don’t worry, there’s no windows and the door is closed,” Ta’Sava said, attempting to reassure the others. “They can’t get in.”   
  
Sadly, his words didn’t seem to reassure Sven at all, who started to slowly back away from the entrance. “That door doesn’t have a lock.” 

 

Similar expressions of horror appeared on Ta’Sava and Beta’s faces. It was true, the door didn’t have a lock. Master Conrad had said that a golden cage didn’t need a lock, or something along those lines. That, and he had believed that they were afraid that he would take Inoichi as a hostage and lock the door. 

 

Suddenly, the door started moving, opening inwards.    
  
Beta was the first to react, throwing herself against the door and slamming it shut, pressing herself against it to keep it in place. That seemed to snap the other two back to reality. Ta’Sava started pushing the table, and Beta moved just enough to allow the tall Khajiit to push it against the door. It was a light table, but it was better than nothing.   
  
Sven channelled his magicka instead, half-whispering arcane words to help himself focus and not panic in a reasonably scary situation. In a matter of seconds the spell was cast and a clear blue rune appeared on the door frame. If anyone managed to get inside, they would be enveloped by an electrical discharge.

  
Ta’Sava and Beta started to cast some spells as well, either on the door or on themselves. It wasn’t going to be enough though. Sven started waving his arms, trying to cast a spell he had learned sneaking around the Arcanaeum, even if he knew he had barely the reserves or expertise to pull it off.    
  
But they needed help, so he was going to summon some. 

 

* * *

 

Conrad closed his eyes to focus again on the boy, releasing the clairvoyance spell so that it would show him the way to reach his nephew. He kept following the blue light at a hurried pace, pleased to see that Naruto had moved far away from the worst of the battle. Actually, the street he was walking through reminded him of a ghost town. It was like the people had run away from the battle as well, leaving half-eaten food on counters or groceries on market stands. Which raised his hopes to find the boy safe and sound.    
  
“Harissen-san, please—” one of the guards that had decided to follow him as if they were lost ducklings pleaded once again. 

  
“No,” he said before the masked man could finish.    
  
“But we would be much faster if—”   
  
“I am not piece of furniture to be moved around,” Conrad exclaimed turning around, doing his best to not snap at them. “I am a man! I will walk!” 

 

The guards suddenly looked startled by his declaration of self-sufficient locomotion. Scared, even, much to Conrad’s confusion. He briefly wondered if his words had sounded harsher in Akaviri, after all it seemed to be a language with way too formalities and honorifics.   
  
Then there was an incredibly loud roar. 

 

Conrad turned as the roar echoed all across the city, and for a moment, he couldn’t believe what he was staring at. In the forest outside of the city, a brief distance from its walls, a small weirdly-shaped mountain had appeared. Or at least he thought it was a mountain until he noticed the massive limbs and the giant tail wobbling behind it. Before he could voice his confusion with a brief but concise—not to mention vile—exclamation, there was a huge explosion of smoke in the forest that tore down some trees and another massive creature appeared. This one looked like a giant dark red toad, only with appropriately-sized clothes and, as if the situation wasn’t already weird enough, it was smoking from a pipe as big as a chimney. 

 

The two beasts faced each other before the toad produced a sword roughly the size of a watchtower from somewhere. Conrad was utterly convinced that Akavir’s compensation for the quantity of monsters with the quality of said monsters had now reached new, unregistered levels of ridiculousness. If  _ this _ is what roamed around these lands, he was actually surprised there was human civilization at all.

 

The monsters had begun their fight, but as much as he would’ve liked to see two gargantuan beings like these tear each other apart, since it wasn’t something you saw every day, he had more important things to do. 

 

He took exactly one step before being filled with a new-found sense of dread. He looked back at the colossal duel in the distance, and, without daring to look away, cast the spell once again, concentrating as much as he could on the mental picture of Naruto. 

 

The tracking spell did its job, and as much as he had wished otherwise, the pale blue light darted towards the forest outside, where the two monsters were fighting in a way that was reshaping the landscape. 

  
Conrad didn’t even realize that he had started running, just that he wasn’t fast enough. The guards were easily keeping pace with him, and one called to him, saying something, probably asking if he wanted to be picked up now. He ignored them, attempting to recall how a spell he hadn’t used in years worked. It took him way too long for his taste.

 

There was a purple flash as he unleashed it, and a skeletal equine with a cold, flaming mane appeared in front of him. Conrad kept moving and vaulted on Arvak’s back, kicking the undead horse so that it would launch itself into a gallop. 

  
Doing his best to not be thrown off the saddle, he took a look at the battle to see if anything had changed. Just as he caught a glimpse of the two monsters, the giant toad turned into a giant… fox-bunny thing with human-like hands and nine tails?   
  
Conrad just stared dumbly at it for a few seconds before deciding that it didn’t matter whatever those monsters were turning into. Or the lack of logic behind it.

 

He would fight both if he had to in order to reach Naruto.  
  


* * *

Naruto swat away a little blue light as if it was a pestering mosquito. He remembered seeing something like this when coming back to the village after their mission in Wave, but they had never bothered him specifically. But since the start of the invasion he had been dealing with one of them every few minutes.

 

"Naruto... why did you transform the giant toad in the Kyuubi?" Sakura asked very slowly, looking in awe at the veritable sea of bright orange fur the three of them were standing on. Or lying, in Sasuke’s case. 

 

"Uuuh... it was the first badass beast I could think of?" Naruto half-asked, nervously. In hindsight, he should’ve picked something different.

 

"Nevermind why,” Sasuke muttered, ignoring the pain caused by the cursed seal ravaging his body. Trying to use it to fuel a third Chidori had backfired spectacularly. “ _ How  _ did you transform the toad at all?!"

 

"I have lots of chakra?" he offered. 

 

"That's barely an explanation," Sakura deadpanned. 

 

**“Hey, brats!”** the transformed Gamabunta yelled at them.  **“This is not the right time to be chatting between yourselves.”**

 

The three genin glanced up, suddenly silent as they looked over the figure of Shukaku, the thing that lived inside Gaara and was now able to roam free as long as its host was asleep.

 

**“Prepare yourself. We may have only one chance at this,”** the henged boss toad told them as he grasped the ground, preparing to sprint.    
  
“I’m out of explosives,” Sakura said with a tired voice, unable to look away from the monster they were about to charge in an all-in gamble.    
  
“Here, take mine,” Sasuke groaned, handing her a stack of tags.    
  
“Yeah, mine too,” Naruto agreed, throwing his whole equipment pouch at her. He turned to face Shukaku, his eyes filled with determination. “Let’s do this!” 

 

**“Hold tight!”** Gamabunta yelled as he rushed forward. The kids had to grab the fur on his head to avoid being thrown off the toad-turned-fox’s back.  

 

The two beasts collided, claws clashing in a terrible battle for dominance. Gamabunta used his new claws to grab Shukaku and bit him in the neck with his massive jaw, trying to hold the giant tanuki still. Naruto used the momentum of the charge to leap onto Shukaku’s hardened, sandy shoulders. He started running towards the head, his mind set on reaching Gaara.

 

Sand tendrils formed on the tanuki’s surface, trying to snatch the blond genin as he advanced. He dodged as many as he could, and everytime it seemed that one of the sandy tentacles was about to catch him, a kunai struck its base, detonating on impact. Thankfully, Sakura had a better aim than he did. He might have ended up with a few mouthfuls of sand but nothing was going to stop him.

  
Finally reaching the top of the head, he caught sight of Gaara’s sleeping form, half-embedded in sand. Naruto rushed closer to the Suna genin, grabbed him by the collar and punched him with all of his strength. The impact echoed loudly in Naruto’s ears, even more than the tanuki’s roars.   
  
The sand under his feet suddenly crumbled and Naruto found himself in free-fall, reflexively tightening his grip on Gaara’s collar. The sand user, now awake, struggled to get free or gain some control over the sand cascading around them—Naruto wasn’t sure. He just continued to punch Gaara to keep him from gaining the upper hand. 

  
They slammed into something, and as the leaves and branches whipped around him, Naruto realized that they were falling through the canopy of the forest. Naruto felt like he had cracked or broken a few bones from the impact but did what he could to shield his head and face as they kept breaking tree limbs in a twin symphony of snapping wood.    
  
Naruto glimpsed down and, seeing that the ground was getting dangerously close, tried to brace himself to soften the landing. He hit the ground with a small yelp as something in his right leg twingedsnapped, causing him to collapse in a leaf-covered bundle of pain.

 

Groaning, he tried to roll over onto his stomach, only to stop when he heard some other pained sounds. Raising his head from the grass, he saw Gaara a brief distance away, trying his best to wobble back to his feet. Naruto planted his hands on the ground and pushed, trying to get up. As he managed to get on all fours, Gaara’s head snapped in his direction.    
  
Naruto’s first impression was that Gaara looked… different, somehow. Bruised, with small cuts caused by the fall through the tree and blood dripping from them. More importantly, he looked tired and worried for the first time since Naruto had met him.    
  
Yet he stood up, barely, a resolute expression settling on his face. Then, the sand user took a slow step towards him. Naruto somehow managed to get up, even if it took him a moment, and stumbled towards Gaara, trying his best to not put weight on his wounded leg.

 

None of them said anything as they got closer to each other. There was probably no need to. Gaara raised a fist, a perfectly normal looking hand, and tried to punch Naruto. Naruto was faster. 

 

He felt the impact of his knuckles against the other boy’s face as he sent Gaara slumping to the ground.Once he was sure that the Suna genin wasn’t going to get up again, Naruto let himself fall as well, unable to keep himself upright anymore.    
  
Naruto stared at the sky, barely visible from under the canopy. He wondered where the Boss Toad, Sakura and Sasuke had ended up.    
  
“My existence…” Gaara muttered besides him, before being interrupted by a cough fit.    
  
“Huh?” Naruto asked as he turned towards his enemy, feeling a bit dazed. Maybe it was because his body was catching up to all the stress he had just been put through.   
  
“I won’t let my existence end like this! I refuse to!” Gaara shouted all of sudden, his face a mask of panic. Naruto wondered when was the last time Gaara had felt fear.     
  
With a grunt, he tried to roll over to look Gaara straight in the eyes, but it was a sluggish effort made even more difficult by the fits of pain that he felt with every movement.    
  
“Stay… stay away!” Gaara yelled, trying to get away from Naruto. But all his efforts were in vain, for it seemed that the fall had been much worse for Gaara than for him. “I’ll kill you!”    
  
"Can you stop that?" Naruto said tiredly. "I don't want to hurt you... you’ve suffered enough." 

 

Gaara fell silent, looking at him in silent confusion. Naruto couldn’t help but notice how vulnerable he looked, unable to defend himself. 

 

"Your pain... I felt it too. I feel it every day," he said slowly. "But I met people that cared for me and I  _ will _ stop you if you try to hurt them." 

 

"Why...?" Gaara asked, eyes wide. “Why do you care for others?”

 

"They saved me... from becoming the monster everyone thought I was,” he explained before being forced to take a brief pause. Talking was becoming a bit difficult, and something ached every time he tried to.   
  


"What do you mean?" Gaara asked again, confused. 

 

"We're the same..." he started explaining. "Both of our dads, they sealed monsters inside of us. But, I think they did it for different reasons." 

 

At that, Gaara eyes widened even more, comprehension dawning on his face. Naruto couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened had their lives been slightly different.

 

"Had it not been for the people that were kind to me—" 

 

Two figures landed beside Gaara before Naruto could finish. Temari and Kankuro, Gaara’s siblings, were now standing protectively over their younger brother. Before Naruto could say anything, he felt two presences behind him, and slightly turned to see Sakura and Sasuke, cursed seal active but standing, doing the same for him. 

  
Naruto would truly have been moved by the fact that his teammates were willing to protect him had it not been for the tension filling the forest and the uncomfortable knowledge that he and Gaara would be completely unable to defend themselves if things went badly.   
  
“Enough, you two,” Gaara said, sounding very tired. “It’s over…” His siblings stared at him in surprise for a moment, before glancing at Naruto and his team. Cautiously, without lowering their guard, the two Suna genin bent down and scooped up their younger brother, holding him up by his arms. 

  
“Gaara… remember what I said,” Naruto told them before they left. “Give them a chance.”

 

At this, not just the Suna shinobi but even his own teammates gave Naruto a strange look. Then, the trio of siblings leaped away, disappearing into the forest. His teammates stood there for a long moment before they realized that, yes, it was over and they could lower their guard.   
  
Sasuke sat silently, crossing his legs, while Sakura produced a first-aid kit from her pouch and knelt beside Naruto.    
  
“We just let them go,” Sasuke said while reaching for the seal on his neck, which was obviously still hurting him. “Isn’t that treason?”   
  
“Do you really think we could have captured them?” Sakura asked, eyes downcast as she looked for some gauze. 

 

“We could’ve captured Gaara if they hadn’t shown up,” Sasuke insisted. Naruto wondered if Konoha would’ve been able to contain Gaara had they kept him as a prisoner. Probably not. 

 

“We drove an enemy team from the village, fought a… whatever that was, and we are all still alive,” Sakura countered, turning towards the Uchiha. “I think it’s more than we could’ve hoped for.”   
  
“Hn.”   
  
“Say, Naruto...” she said, starting to treat Naruto’s wounds, for which the blond was grateful even if he had to suppress a hiss. “What did you mean when you said that both of your fathers sealed monsters inside of you and Gaara?” 

 

Ah, crap.    
  
Thankfully, Naruto was saved from having to give an explanation by the sensation of slowly losing consciousness. He supposed he had overdone it a bit in that fight.

 

He heard Sakura and, surprisingly, Sasuke's voices calling for him, almost as if he was dying. He would've liked to tell them that he wasn't dying, he was just resting his eyes. Or at least he would've liked to, had it not been for the sound of hooves coming closer.

 

Wait. Hooves? 

 

Naruto heard the sound of hooves approaching, followed by the sound of bushes and undergrowth being disturbed by something large passing through them. He heard a horse neigh very loudly, stopping near them. Sasuke and Sakura started yelling in a panic for some reason, and there was the sound of weapons being prepared. 

 

He heard heavy steps running towards him—clearly not a shinobi—and Sakura and Sasuke’s indignant squawks as they were pushed aside. He felt two strong hands slowly lift his head, and he did his best to open his eyes. 

  
It was his uncle, wide-eyed and panicked. He was saying something, but Naruto couldn't quite piece together what it was. He was too exhausted, and he was half-certain that his uncle wasn't even speaking the right language.

 

"Un...?" Naruto tried to say something, but he ended up groaning instead as his tongue refused to work.

 

The panic left his uncle's eyes in an instant, and they took on a hard and focused quality. A moment later something red was shoved into Naruto's face. He didn't understand what it was at first, but then he felt some kind of liquid touching his lips

 

"Drink, boy! Drink!" his uncle urged him, and Naruto complied. He was a bit thirsty because of all the sand that had gotten in his mouth anyway.

 

“Hey!” Sasuke yelled. “What do you think you’re—” 

  
“Don’t worry, Uchiha-san,” someone else said. Just how many people had arrived? “Your teammate is in no danger.”

 

Naruto felt the liquid go down his throat, but as as he tasted its foul flavor he almost spit it out by reflex. Only his uncle’s hands stopped him, and he was forced to swallow. The pain faded as his body started to itch everywhere for some reason. Even the leg wasn’t hurting as much.

 

His uncle pressed a hand on his chest, and for a brief moment it was surrounded by a pale white light. Once he was done, Naruto felt that breathing had become much, much easier, and  he tried to sit up. He had the time to catch just a glimpse of his two teammates being held back by two ANBU guys before feeling two arms wrapping around him. 

 

Naruto stiffened, shocked by the unexpected hug. As the surprise passed, he relaxed into his uncle's embrace. It was warm, and... wet? He was feeling something dripping onto his shoulder, dampening his jacket. He felt the body of his uncle tremble slightly, and realized that he was crying. 

  
“Uncle, why are you crying?” Naruto asked, even as he fought back tears of his own. “We won.”   
  
“ _ Uncle?!” _ Sakura and Sasuke exclaimed in utter confusion. 

 

Ah, crap.   
  


 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. Aftermaths and After That

"I'm telling you, uncle, I can walk! Put me down!" Naruto protested in vain.

“You were injured,” Conrad grunted. After the battle in the distance had died down he had picked up the boy and started walking towards the city, followed closely by the two other kids and the masked guards in tow.

“Well… yeah! But I’m not now so it’s fine! And you’re embarrassing me in front of my teammates!” Naruto pointed out, gesturing towards the two other children.

“That was an impressive medical jutsu, that’s for sure,” the girl with pink hair mumbled.

Pink hair. Had Conrad not just seen the boy badly wounded, he wouldn’t have been able to not stare at her in disbelief.

“Hey Sakura-chan, are you alright?” Naruto asked as he tried once again to get free from his grasp and turn around to face his friend. The boy was as wriggly as a ferret.

"Since when do you even have an uncle?" the girl asked, not even bothering to respond to Naruto’s question. Kinda rude, but the Nord had to admit that her question was a legitimate one.

"Since two days ago, I guess?" Naruto shrugged. Conrad almost interjected saying that technically speaking he had an uncle since he was born, but it was fair. After all, Conrad himself had not known about the boy until he literally stumbled into him.

"Sounds fishy to me..." the girl—pink hair—said, giving the Nord a pointed look. The other boy, who looked to be the moody one of the bunch, seemed to agree by scowling harder.

"Fish?” he wondered out loud. “I didn't go fishing. I have no fish."

"What?" she asked, her suspicious stare replaced by utter confusion.

"Uncle doesn't understand us very well. He comes from a far away place. They talk funny there," Naruto explained.

"Naruto, don't lie," Pink Hair told him with an admonishing tone.

“Boy is not lying,” Conrad said with a slight frown. “I come from Skyrim.”

“Skyrim?”

“Land in Tamriel. Far from here.”

“Tamriel... ?” she repeated, casting a glance to the dark-haired kid.

"What did you mean earlier—" he started impatiently, only to be interrupted by an annoyed cough.

"Haruno-san, Uchiha-san,” one of the masked guards calmly requested, silencing any further questions. “Please do not discuss S-ranks secrets any further in present company.”

Conrad almost missed a step as he heard that phrase. Where had he heard it before? It seemed to trigger one of his 'Daedric Prince' alarms in the back of his head for some reason...

Taking advantage of his distraction, Naruto managed to squirm free and jump on the ground, yelling about victory and freedom. Conrad almost tried to pick him up again, but decided otherwise. If the boy had so much energy to celebrate his little conquest, he could walk just fine.

"... Is it just me, or does Naruto's 'uncle' look a bit like the Yondaime?" Pink Hair whispered to the moody one after a few minutes of silence.

Both masked guards coughed.

 

* * *

 

 

Kakashi was not wandering aimlessly around Konoha. In fact, he had a purpose.

Glancing up, he saw a team of shinobi jumping over the rooftops, sweeping the village for any enemy unlucky enough to have been left behind. As soon as the invasion was repelled, the Leaf forces had started to organize again, taking care of the wounded and escorting the prisoners to the cell blocks.

Someone had even formed teams of volunteers, shinobi and civilians alike, to help with the clean-up operation, be it taking care of rubble or bodies.

He had convinced Gai to show the great Konoha hospitality to that team from Iwa so that he could look for his genin. As far as he was concerned, deciding how to deal with a foreign team caught in the crossfire was too much work, but it wouldn't look good if they ran away or got hurt while in the village.

Konoha had been hurt, not just because of the invasion but also politically. A betrayal from an ally didn't go unnoticed by your enemies. Kakashi knew that everyone would watch them now, hoping to find a sign of weakness.

There had been no official reports yet but from what he was seeing the invasion could've gone worse. Especially when the giant three-headed snake or the dragon appeared.

The snake's allegiance was obvious, but the dragon's? One of the many enemy nin he had encountered that day had actually asked him if the dragon was on his side. Kakashi promptly stabbed him in the face, of course. But it did shed some light on the situation.

He had checked later and nobody knew where it had come from. Most had even wondered if it had been a genjutsu, but illusions didn’t rip a giant snake's throat. Or feast on their corpse.

To make it all confusing, the beast had vanished in a flash of purple flames after that.

Today had been weird.

He wondered if his missing students had been caught up in the weirdness. Hopefully not.

This search was getting frustrating, though. Where had they gone?

“Kakashi! Hey, Kakashi!” a familiar voice called him. Turning around he saw the familiar shape of Pakkun, running towards him as fast as he could.

“Pakkun? What are you doing here?” he asked before remembering who he was supposed to escort. “Where is my team?”

“Kakashi, it’s an emergency! You must come to help! Your students—” the dog started talking between pants, each word alarming the jonin before stopping all of sudden and looking further down the road. “Oh, there they are.”

“Kakashi-sensei!” someone called happily, and the last worries for the day finally left him. He turned around to see Naruto, Sakura and Sasuke walking towards him. They looked a bit worse to wear, but none of them seemed to be injured. Kakashi sighed in relief and spared a glance to the two ANBU that were following them and—

He froze. For half a second he wondered if he was seeing things. Then he wondered if it could be a genjutsu or a henge, or some other technique he couldn't think about right now. Because that man shouldn't be here. He was dead. Kakashi had seen the corpse and been at the funeral. He had mourned him.

Someone had the gall, and the balls, to go around wearing Minato-sensei's face in the middle of Konoha. And get close to Naruto. Kakashi felt the handle of a kunai brush against his fingertips.

Stop, the ANBU captain signed quickly. Ally.

Kakashi blinked, his brain once again refusing to comprehend. He must have seen the signs wrong somehow.

No danger, the captain signaled again. This time Kakashi was sure he had got it right. As the group got closer, he glanced uneasily at the man who was wearing his sensei’s face. He couldn't decide if the man's disguise was very good or over-the-top. If Minato-sensei had been alive, he would surely have gained a few wrinkles or scars, but not that many.

Who is this? he signed. Technically he had asked Who is target? but there was just so much that could be said without starting a pantomime in front of everyone.

Not now, the ANBU replied. Kakashi may have imagined it, but he thought he had seen an annoyed glint in the shinobi’s hidden eyes.

“Kakashi-sensei?” Naruto called again, catching his attention. Even Sakura and Sasuke seemed to wonder about his silence.

“Hello there,” Kakashi greeted the group. “So, how did it go?”

"How did it go... How did it go?! It went crazy!" Naruto exploded all of sudden. "Gaara was all, you know, ‘I'll kill you’ and BAM and—"

"The enemy nin pursued us, which kept him away from the village," Sasuke interrupted, trying to give a more understandable report. "They retreated and we weren't in any condition to pursue."

“And we were awesome and fought together and Sakura was using explosives—”

"I was just throwing them, Naruto,” Sakura protested. “It's not like I made them."

"Yeah but you were still really cool! It was all like BOOM and stuff!" Naruto kept going, making gestures that Kakashi guessed were meant to be explosions.

"Well... it was pretty cool to actually use them..." Sakura admitted, sounding a bit embarrassed by all the praise.

Kakashi wondered if Sakura may end being as destructive as her teammates if the habit of using explosives caught on. But he was more interested in the man’s reactions. As the genin kept talking and recalling what had happened in their battle against the son of the Kazekage, the stranger got more worried and… angry? Why would he get angry about it if he wasn’t a prisoner but an ally?

“I’m glad to hear that your teamwork helped,” Kakashi said, silencing his students before acting like he had just noticed the stranger. “And who would this be?”

“Huh?” Naruto looked between the man wearing his sensei’s face and Kakashi for a moment, before turning towards the jonin with a grin. “Oh, that’s my uncle.”

“Your uncle,” Kakashi said flatly. It wasn’t a question, because the statement pretty much froze on the spot whatever actual question Kakashi’s brain may have elaborated.

“Yup! Uncle, this is Kakashi-sensei. Kakashi-sensei, this is Uncle Conrad,” Naruto said, before leaning in a conspiratorial manner and half-whisper to him. “He’s my dad’s brother!”

“Your father’s... brother,” Kakashi repeated slowly. He must have misheard, because there was no way that—

“Yep!” Naruto nodded proudly, not noticing how still Kakashi went all of sudden. The jonin was almost certain he was not trapped in a genjutsu now. It was far too crazy to be one, although he was painfully tempted to check. He glanced again at the two ANBU.

Not here, both the masked shinobi gestured again. Kakashi thought that it was unfair; he just wanted for someone to say something that would make the world make sense again.

“Hey, One-Eye,” the man said, speaking for the first time with an odd cadence and an accent that Kakashi couldn’t recognize. One-Eye? That was a new one. “The boy calls you ‘sensei’. You taught them?”

"A bit," Kakashi admitted with a shrug. Much to his confusion, the man’s anger seemed to be suddenly aimed at him. The tension was so palpable that people passing by, civilians and shinobi alike, had stopped to glance at what was going on.

Which didn’t seem to be lost on the two ANBU, especially when some of the onlookers started whispering between themselves or tried to get closer to have a better look.

“Harissen-san, we should take you to your lodgings,” Owl said all of sudden, grabbing the man’s shoulder.

“No way, I’m not—” the Minato lookalike started to protest, before the two shinobi grabbed him arms and all but manhandled him away. The man started struggling and shouting a series of very angry-sounding words that Kakashi didn’t understand. The two shinobi darted away as fast as they could with their passenger and Kakashi kept following them with his eye as long as he could, noticing that they were making a beeline for the Hokage Monument.

“Why did they take him away?” Naruto asked, sounding none of the wiser as the people around dispersed after a nasty look from Kakashi.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he reassured him, thinking that he had to see the Hokage as soon as he could to ask what the hell was all this about. “Now—”

“Alright, Naruto. Talk. How did this person show up claiming he’s your uncle?” Sakura asked before Kakashi could finish, almost hissing. “No offense, but... I thought you didn’t know who your parents were?”

“And what’s this story about your father sealing a monster in your gut?” Sasuke asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Kakashi stared between his genin in silence for a few seconds before letting out an audible groan. His brain didn’t deserve being treated like this, he could feel a headache coming already.

 

* * *

 

 

"Let me get this straight... that wasn't Minato," Chouza said, gesturing in emphasis.

"No," Inoichi drawled out. He briefly wondered how his life would’ve been if a certain person hadn’t shown up, ever. It would probably have been better for his sanity.

"But Minato is the father of that kid, Naruto," Chouza continued.

“Yes,” he almost snapped, not really giving a damn anymore. What was the point of keeping a S-rank secret if the living evidence of it just waltzed around the village and wrecked invaders anyway?

“Wow... we're terrible friends,” the Akimichi leader said, looking ashamed. ”He's even called Uzumaki!"

“That's what I said when Hokage-sama told me," Inoichi sighed, wondering where he could get some drinks. He briefly wondered if there were any bars still open, even if the village was still in a state of disarray.

“So, he really is their son,” Shikaku said pensively, speaking for the first time since they had met Harissen-san.

“You knew?!” Inoichi and Chouza asked at the same time.

“No, I didn’t know,” Shikaku shook his head. “I suspected it, though. But I never tried to find out.”

“Why?” Inoichi had to ask.

“A part of me wondered if I wasn’t just… seeing things,” the Nara admitted. “Wishful thinking, you know?”

Inoichi winced, wondering what his friend may be thinking. All the times he may have noticed something, but ignored it… it was probably worse than not even suspecting anything like he had.

“Come on guys, don’t be so glum,” Chouza interrupted, grabbing the other two in a boisterous hug. “We can still make-up to the kid! I’m sure that if we do so, Minato may even forgive us.”

“Minato would,” Inoichi muttered. “Kushina would still flay us alive with her chains though.”

All three men nodded in solemn agreement before going back to work. Konoha wouldn’t fix itself.

 

* * *

 

“Jinchuuriki?” Sakura asked, repeating the unfamiliar word. “What's a Jinchuuriki?”

Kakashi had led his team to a secluded spot away from the clean-up teams, knowing that if the cat was out of the bag, it was better to deal with it and properly debrief them. Especially since it seemed to be a whole herd of cats that had escaped, because obviously the universe hated him.

“A Jinchuuriki is someone that was used to seal a bijuu,” Naruto explained, a tinge of hesitation in his voice. “Gaara is one… and so am I.”

“W-what…?” Sakura stuttered, eyes widening. “Does… does it hurt? Are you alright?”

“Huh?” Naruto blinked. “No I’m fine, it doesn’t hurt. Well, not physically…”

“The seal on Naruto’s body is perfect. The demon can’t hurt or influence him,” Kakashi interrupted, thinking that he had to explain this himself. “The fact that he’s a jinchuuriki is a common knowledge among the adult population but there’s a law created by the Sandaime that forbids to speak about it.”

“But then…” Sakura wondered uncomfortably.

“I'm not stopping you from having this talk only because the Sandaime's law doesn't say anything about Naruto telling this to other people," Kakashi clarified, and his little genin seemed to relax a bit. If he had to use a loophole to inform his team, so be it.

“Can we see it?” Sakura blurted all of sudden, before realizing what she had just said. “I meant the seal!”

Naruto looked at her for a moment before getting up, lifting his ruined jacket and shirt and closing his eyes, concentrating to mold his chakra. Slowly, the seal’s complex pattern appeared on his belly. Kakashi watched as his teammates got closer to get a better look. Then Sakura, for some reason, poked the seal with her fingers.

“Sakura-chan, that tickles!” Naruto protested, covering himself and trying to not laugh.

“Sorry!” she quickly said before staring back at the seal. “So, what’s inside of this—”

“The Kyuubi,” Sasuke said, deadly serious. “The Kyuubi is sealed inside of you.”

Naruto’s mirth quickly died and he nodded, avoiding their gazes. Kakashi had never seen him so nervous before.

“But… but it’s dead! The Yondaime killed it, we learned it at the Academy—” Sakura started, while Naruto shook his head.

“It wasn’t. The Yondaime sealed it into me.”

“But you said that it was your father that sealed a—” she protested, as a glint of realization flashed on her eyes. “No way.”

“Sakura—”

“No way! You—You can’t be meaning that…”

“You never told us,” Sasuke said, almost accusing his teammate.

“I found out two days ago,” Naruto explained. “About my dad, I mean. I’ve known about the Kyuubi since we graduated but it’s supposed to be a secret, so…”

“But then your uncle…”

“He’s the Yondaime’s brother, yes,” Naruto nodded. “Long-lost twin, actually.”

Kakashi kept his eyes on Naruto but noticed Sasuke scowling all the same, an odd mix of jealousy and longing on the Uchiha’s face. The jonin knew that the prodigy would’ve done anything to discover another member of his family, so he could understand why he felt that way. Even if Naruto’s “uncle” was obviously an impostor… right?

“Sensei, why are you being so calm about this?!” Sakura asked, turning towards him.

“I don't know about the uncle part, but all the rest is true,” Kakashi confirmed from his spot. If it was true, he couldn’t even imagine how the Hokage would deal with it.

“You knew?!” Naruto exclaimed, turning towards him with a shocked expression.

“Yes,” Kakashi said guiltily, looking right in Naruto’s eyes. “Your father… he was my sensei.”

It had sounded more like a confession than an explanation to his ears. All the genin looked at Kakashi in disbelief while Naruto seemed to be shocked to the core. After a few second, his loudest student had to sit down.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as Kakashi watched Naruto dwell on what he realized must have been yet another life-changing revelation in just a few days. Sasuke and Sakura kept looking between the two of them, but they didn’t dare say anything, realizing how important this moment was for their teammate.

“Why… ?” Naruto uttered, not looking up at Kakashi, the implied part of question obvious for everyone. The older shinobi could feel all the old guilt come back at him at once, like an ugly beast that refused to just die and decided to haunt you instead.

“Your parents loved you, Naruto,” Kakashi assured him. “They would’ve been really proud of you.”

“Then why didn’t you ever show up to tell me that?!?” Naruto exclaimed in anger, looking up. Kakashi could see tears forming up in his eyes and had to look away in shame, jonin or not. What he saw instead were the dark look Sasuke was giving him and how white Sakura’s knuckles had become.

His students were all mad at him, Kakashi noticed. He felt like he deserved that, though.

“I wasn’t allowed to,” he admitted in a low voice, trying to tell himself that it didn’t sound like a weak excuse. He forced himself to look back at his student. “And I didn’t know how.”

It was Naruto’s turn to be silent now, but it didn’t last long. “Why not?”

“Because,” Kakashi started, trying to choose his next words carefully. “I was very young at the time, and I was in no condition to do anything but…” he felt himself trail off for a moment. “It was better if I watched you from afar.”

“But later—”

"Later... it was too late. By then there were orders in place, to keep you safe. If anyone ever suspected that you were your father's son, you would've become a target so I had to keep my distance," he continued as his mind trailed to that team from Iwa. After weighting what he had just said, he rolled up his sleeve, showing the genin his ANBU tattoo. Today they had learned a lot of secrets, what was just one more? “I tried to watch you from the shadows, when I wasn’t on an assignment. I know it isn’t enough, but…”

His voice trailed off and once more, nobody talked. He felt Sasuke’s eyes stare at his shoulder even after he hid the tattoo back, but he kept staring at his sensei’s son. After a brief moment, Sakura awkwardly reached over and patted Naruto’s back.

As Naruto processed his words, Kakashi felt all the memories, what-ifs and guilt accumulated in his shinobi career weight heavy on him. He knew that Naruto would probably hate him for not telling this sooner, orders or not orders and honestly? He deserved it.

“Can… can you tell me about them now, then?” his student finally asked with the meekest voice the jonin had ever heard from him.

Kakashi’s expression softened as his worries washed away, but before he could answer he heard the sounds of someone approaching. He noticed that Sasuke had heard, too. “I will, later,” he said, getting up and giving a look at his team. “Not a word of this, understood?”

"Hey, lazybones! How come you get to skip clean-up duty?" a voice broke through the air. Turning around, Kakashi saw the two Inuzuka siblings coming from around the corner, along with their dogs.

“My little genin had a long day and I was allowing them to rest,” Kakashi offered as Hana scolded her younger brother.

“Hey, Kiba,” Naruto greeted. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re looking around for anyone injured or trapped under the rubble,” Hana explained as the dogs kept sniffing around. The pup, Akamaru if Kakashi remembered correctly, got closer to Naruto and after giving the Uzumaki a few sniffs, jumped on his lap and gave him a few licks on his face.

"Naruto, were you crying?" Kiba asked to Naruto.

“I’m not,” the blond answered, rubbing his face with his arm as he kept petting the small dog.

“Looks like you were to me,” the young Inuzuka said teasingly, but before the blond could answer back Sasuke moved right between him and Kiba.

"He wasn't," Sasuke almost seethed, causing Kiba to back off, arms raised. Kakashi raised an eyebrow at that, Sasuke being protective of Naruto? He had thought the day had been strange as it was but here he stood corrected.

“How’s Hinata doing?” Sakura asked, attempting to defuse the situation.

“Shino and I took her to the hospital after you two left,” Kiba said detachedly. “I haven’t heard anything yet.”

“The invasion?” Hana spoke in a low voice, moving closer to Kakashi as she glanced at his genin. He realized what she meant; even if his team had already seen combat in Wave, today was the first time their generation had experienced actual warfare.

“More or less,” Kakashi said, noncommittal. It was a good explanation for their private chit-chat after all. “Now, if you would excuse us, my team and I have to speak with Hokage-sama about a few things, so—”

“Wait, you didn’t hear?” Hana asked with a seriousness that interrupted the kids’ antics.

“Heard what?” Kakashi already felt a sense of dread.

“Hokage-sama… he was badly injured.”

 

* * *

 

As soon as Conrad felt his feet touching solid ground again, he freed himself from the guard’s grasp. He started to protest about their habit of carrying people like a sack of wheat, but whatever threat he was about to tell them died in his throat as he noticed the state in which the clearing was.

Bodies were littered in front of the familiar shack, some badly mutilated. Two belonged to the masked guards he had become accustomed to, the others… for a moment he thought it was another group of ninja soldiers, but their outfits and masks seemed different from the ones he had seen so far.

He didn’t have time to focus on them too much though because the lonely figure standing in front of the cabin caught all his attention. Must have been the weapon in his hand, or the dark armour full of spikes he was wearing.

Daedric armour.

The figure’s helm turned slightly towards him and he could see the warrior’s face through the opened faceplate. Conrad couldn’t recognize the caste the being belonged to, but he recognized what was standing in front of him.

"I thought I had smelled dragon’s stench," the dremora said in perfect Cyrodilic, giving a huge bite to an apple—no, it was a heart, probably harvested by one of the bodies. Conrad idly wondered how strong his jaw was. "It's been a long time since I met a spawn of Akatosh."

"You're unbound," Conrad stated.

"And you're a mortal,” the dremora replied in a mocking tone. “Must be frustrating."

"Harissen-san?" the guard with the owl mask asked, hand on the sword’s hilt. "Who is this?"

Conrad ignored him, trying to ignore the dreadful sensation he felt as he realized that as much as he wished otherwise, there was only one explanation for the presence of an unbound dremora here.

He flickered his fingers, not daring to break eye contact with the creature in front of him as he called the spell. Faint auras appeared around the cautious guards and the dremora, along with three shapes from the inside of the shack. Conrad felt a felt a flash of relief pass through him.

"How peculiar,” the dremora observed, tilting his head. “You care for—"

Conrad interrupted whatever deceit the creature was about to say with an ice spear shooting from his outstretched hand. The daedra stumbled one step back, mostly because of the surprise than for the impact on his chest.

He heard the two guards readying their weapons, but his eyes didn’t leave the dremora’s ember-like ones, now burning with rage.

Raising his sword, the infernal being charged with reckless abandon. Expecting this, the Nord raised his left hand and a spiked shield manifested from the ether. He barely had time to brace for impact before daedric metal clashed with its brethren.

The two guards flanked the dremora, so fast that their enemy didn’t see them coming until their short swords slashing downwards. While one barely scratched the daedric armour’s surface, the other struck true between the elbow joints, drawing blood.

The dremora snarled, grabbing the masked ninja that had wounded him by the wrist and throwing him away like if he was a doll.

“Zun,” Conrad called as the monster turned around to cleave his other ally. The sword flew away from the daedra’s hand, landing among the grass. The dremora hesitated for a moment and the Nord charged, slamming the shield against his enemy putting all his weight behind it.

The daedra stumbled under the crash, barely managing to stay upright. Conrad took a deep breath and bellowed at the top of his lungs.

“Gaan Lah Haas!” A blur of purple flames surrounded the dremora, who finally fell down on one knee as the Thu’um ravaged his body. Not wasting time, Conrad raised his shield and slammed its serrated edge on the daedra’s helm with all of his strength.

Sparks and blood flew as the helmet was ripped away. The dremora struggled to stand, still weakened by the Dragonborn’s shout. The two guards restrained him, putting their swords against the daedra’s throat and eventually he stilled to stare hard at the Nord.

Why, Conrad didn’t know. After all, why would a dremora stop because of a blade? If they were deadly injured they would just disappear and return unharmed from whatever reign of Oblivion they were from.

“Tell me, is this really Akavir?” the daedra asked. That explained the sudden change of attitude.

“Yes,” Conrad said, slightly lowering the shield. He could always slam it against the dremora’s face later. “What of it?”

Much to his confusion, the daedra laughed, drops of blood falling from the nasty gash on his face. “Then I’m the first of my kind to step foot under its accursed moon in a millennia.”

"The moon?" he couldn’t help but ask. He had spent weeks wondering about the only moon visible from here, to no avail. When he had asked Inoichi, he had got the impression that the shinobi thought he was messing with him.

"The veil has been pierced,” the dremora all but yelled. “And nobody, neither Him or his accursed mother can do anything about it!"

After this outburst, Conrad blinked for a few seconds before letting go of the shield, which dissolved in a flash of purple light.

“I have neither the time or patience to deal with you right now,” he told the daedra with disdain, as he charged a spell with both of his hands. “Let him go,” he told the guards in his broken Akaviri.

“What?” the higher-ranking between the two said, and once again Conrad had the impression that they thought he was crazy.

“Just do it, or you will be hit,” he said as the humming spell between his palms started to make him lose sensibility to his fingers.

The two ninja looked at each other for a moment, having some kind of silent, inexpressive conversation about it. As soon as they took a step back, the dremora lunged for Conrad, a hand outstretched towards his face. The Nord fired the spell just in time, and a literal ice storm invested the daedra, encapsulating his body in a thick layer of ice. By the time he stopped, only the daedra’s head wasn’t completely shrouded.

“This should do for now,” he murmured, ignoring the dremora’s obscenities and occasional blasphemies as he walked towards the shack. He would need to find a better solution later. While he had no idea what the dremora had been babbling about the moon, it sounded ominous enough that he didn’t like the idea of sending the bastard back to Oblivion to tell to all his minions and superiors about this place.

Unless he found some permanent solution, the daedra would end up going back to Oblivion sooner or later. Silently thanking the Nine for the barrier placed between their worlds, he took a peek inside of the shack’s broken door.

An alarmed yelp sounded from behind a flipped table as he entered. The apprentices he had been stuck with glimpsed from their hiding place, ready to throw whatever they had at him, be it spells or—was that his journal?

The magelings sighed in relief as they saw him, relaxing from their defensive stances. Conrad looked them over. They didn't look hurt, albeit this was probably the first life or death situation they’d had to deal with. They looked way too young for these things, just like his even younger nephew and the other two kids.

He was going to have to deal with this too, wasn’t he? First though, the important things.

“Alright you three,” Conrad said, crossing his arms. “Who was stupid enough to summon a dremora?”


	16. Moving On and Moving Out

Much to Sarutobi’s chargin, being confined to a hospital bed after the loss of a limb didn’t stop his duties from stealing most of his time. Especially because the village had been attacked and he had been unconscious for the crucial first day after the invasion.  
  
  
The doctors had been very against the idea of letting a patient that had almost died, suffered physical trauma and with a long process of surgeries and physical therapy ahead being visited by a literal mob of people asking for orders. So Hiruzen had ordered them to shut up, give him a soldier pill, keep one of them in the room in case he had a heart attack or something and let him do his job.  
  
  
They had vetoed him leaving the bed though, which was why the Sandaime Hokage had to listen to reports, read lists and more reports, ask what measures had already been taken while he was under, approve new measures, order mission schedules and re-schedules and delegate what really didn’t need his attention no matter how much everyone else said about it, while laying down between hospital sheets.  
  
  
At least he didn’t have to talk to diplomats that had awakened in the aftermath of a warzone and had been reasonably spooked by it. Homura and Koharu had agreed with him that meeting the leader of the village to be reassured that everything was alright would be counter-intuitive if said Kage was a cripple with a haggard appearance.  
  
  
He sighed as he stamped his approval on yet another top-priority mission order. He had pretended to not notice the way his subordinates had winced at seeing his stump as the medic changed the bandage, but it didn’t change the facts.  
  
  
The village needed to look strong, now more than ever. Their allies had betrayed them and if they showed any sign of weakness, the other villages would take advantage of it.  
  
  
A shinobi without a leg wasn’t able to fight, and a Kage unable to fight wasn’t able to protect the village. Hiruzen knew that his days as a shinobi were over.  
  
  
The problem, obviously, was finding someone that could succeed him as soon as possible.  
  
  
The door to the hospital room opened and Jiraiya stumbled in, the perfect image of exhaustion. The fact alone that he hadn't come through the window told Sarutobi all about his current state.  
  
  
“Are you here to claim my hat?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.  
  
  
The half-joke fell flat. “No,” was all that Jiraiya said as he closed the door.  
  
  
"How come that I am the one in the hospital bed, and yet you look in worse shape than I do?"  
  
  
Jiraiya gave a sad excuse of a cheerful grin. "Sealing two resurrected kage is not an easy task. Neither is ensuring they're stored away safely."  
  
  
"Stored?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
  
Jiraiya slumped into the chair at his bedside with a sigh. "So they didn't tell you?"  
  
  
"Nobody told me anything aside from the fight being over and Orochimaru escaping," Hiruzen explained. "Given that the village was still there, I had assumed that you managed to stop them."  
  
  
Jiraiya gave him a long, tired look before glancing at the medic standing by in the room. Sarutobi sighed and turned towards the medic. "Leave us."  
  
  
The medic-nin seemed willing to protest, but after looking at him in the eyes he relented and left without a word.  
  
  
“It could’ve been worse,” Jiraiya started as the door was closed shut. “I mean, I did have to pretty much improvise, make-up new seals on the battlefield while fighting against two  _Kage_ , it’s not like—”  
  
  
“Jiraiya.”  
  
  
“The seals were able to stop them. It required a lot of work but they’re unable to move,” Jiraiya explained with a sigh. “But it didn’t dispel Orochimaru’s kinjutsu.”  
  
  
Sarutobi slowly digested this and decided he didn’t like it at all. “So, when you said ‘stored’, you meant…”  
  
  
“As long as nobody touches the seals improperly, it should be fine,” Jiraiya said, slumping back against his chair.  
  
  
He almost asked where his student had put the two Kage that had been resurrected as mindless drones by his  _other_  student, but Sarutobi bit his tongue. This wasn’t his office, and walls had ears.  
  
  
“Anything else out of the ordinary?” he asked, browsing through a stack of papers and trying to not think how things could go wrong if anyone got their hands on the not-so-deceased Senju prodigies.  
  
  
“No—Wait, yes,” Jiraiya quickly backpedaled. “Yamanaka Inoichi told me that Harissen-san’s student were attacked during the invasion.”  
  
  
Sarutobi didn’t look up, but he stopped shuffling pages he had finished double-checking ten minutes ago. “Oh?”  
  
  
“Yes, it’s kinda odd. Apparently some unknown shinobi showed up as their sensei was out butchering invaders.”  
  
  
“I see,” he hummed, stroking his beard. He had a strong suspicion of who those ‘unknown’ shinobi may have been, since he was absolutely certain that the enemy had not managed to get anywhere close to the mountain. Just  _fantastic_. “Were Harissen-san’s students captured, or—”  
  
  
“Actually, the shinobi that attacked them are all dead,” Jiraiya clarified. “According to Inoichi they were a bit shaken by the experience but are otherwise fine.”  
  
  
Hiruzen paused at that. He didn’t know the details, but three teenagers untrained for combat shouldn’t be able to face a shinobi team and emerge victorious under normal circumstances. “It seems that we’ve underestimated these foreigners, after all.”  
  
  
“Well, their sensei can summon dragons,” Jiraiya hummed in thought. “Oh, and Inoichi told me that Minato’s brother captured an unusual prisoner when he was escorted back to his lodgings.”  
  
  
“What?”  
  


* * *

  
  
“What you mean ‘I don’t know what a daedra is’, Inoichi?” Conrad asked slowly. He had been keeping an eye on the apprentices, who were supposed to pack their things so they could move to a different location, but that statement caught his whole attention. Because he had seen and done many absurd things in his life, but he had never heard of something so utterly ridiculous before.  
  
  
“I told you, Harissen-san. I never heard that word before."  
  
  
"You saw one,” he deadpanned. “I show him to you."  
  
  
"Oh. To be honest, he looked like an oni to me. Or some other kind of yokai."  
  
  
"What is oni?"  
  
  
"Legendary creatures that appear in stories and old myths," Inoichi quickly explained, and Conrad couldn’t help but think that the daedra had told him the truth. Or at least a half-truth, because he wouldn’t trust the word of a random daedra as far as he could throw said daedra's carcass. A millennia of lack of contact with them would make them sound like old stories to scare children for sure.  
  
  
He had no idea why they would change their names so much, though.  
  
  
“I want to see him,” he finally spoke, observing Ta’Sava putting the meager alchemical supplies in a stuffed box. At least he didn’t make anything explode this time.  
  
  
Inoichi paused, hesitating. “I’m sorry, but while we appreciate your assistance in capturing him, I believe it’s better that interrogating him remains a shinobi matter.”  
  
  
That caught the Nord's attention once more. "What you thinking?" he seethed, turning towards the blond ninja. "You know not what you dealing with!"  
  
  
On an academical level, Conrad knew that it wasn't just Inoichi's call, but he couldn't help but feel contempt for the shinobi's collective paranoia.  
  
  
"Tell me about this... daedra, then," Inoichi asked patiently. "How did it even get here?"  
  
  
"Sven summoned him," he answered, pointing towards his student.  
  
  
"Master, I said I was sorry!" the young Imperial answered from the corner where he had been confined.  
  
  
"Go back to packing, Sven. And  _no magic_ ," Conrad ordered, emphasizing the last words. While what Sven had done was an amazing feat for someone of his age, he still deserved to be punished somehow. The apprentice sighed and went back to putting books in one of the strange chests that Inoichi had sworn were made of pressed paper.  
  
  
"So, he's a summon?" Inoichi asked, sounding intrigued.  
  
  
"That’s what I said. Or did I use wrong word?"  
  
  
"But why did he attack you?"  
  
  
"Because he was... what's the word when you not sworn to someone's service?" Conrad asked.  
  
  
"Loose?" Inoichi offered.  
  
  
"If you say so," Conrad shrugged. "Is your language, not mine."  
  
  
"But what does it mean? Did Sven summon him without a contract?"  
  
  
"Contract?" he repeated, hating the fact that he probably sounded like an uncouth moron.  
  
  
"It's when two groups agree to something," the other man said without batting an eye.  
  
  
"Oh. No. Making pacts with daedra is always bad idea, but summoning a loose one is bad also."  
  
  
"I said I was sorry!" Sven repeated once again.  
  
  
"Then why didn't he dispel himself when you captured it?" the Yamanaka asked, clearly confused.  
  
  
"Because he can not,” Conrad scoffed. “Not how it works."  
  
  
"Actually... I'm pretty sure that's how it works."  
  
  
"Who met daedra before here?" Conrad asked with a gruff.  
  
  
"You, I guess, but—"  
  
  
"Then  _trust me_ when I say that not how it works,” he insisted. “Good thing, too."  
  
  
"Why? Would it be that bad if he went back where he came from?"  
  
  
"I am not sure yet... if Akavir really wasn't influenced by daedra for—” Conrad stopped with a sigh. This was getting old. “What's the word for ten one-hundreds?"  
  
  
"One thousand."  
  
  
"If Akavir was not influenced by daedra for one thousand years, who knows what happen if they find a way here."  
  
  
"But Conrad-sensei—" Beta spoke up as she finished her chores.  
  
  
"Don't call me that," he grumbled. He didn’t want to be called with the same title of people that trained children for war.  
  
  
"Sorry, Master Conrad,” she said, in an odd mix of Akaviri and Cyrodilic. “But... the Dragonfires protect all of Nirn, right? They should protect this place too, yes?"  
  
  
"The Dragonfires protect us, but you can find daedric cults in every,” Conrad faltered, wondering what the word for ‘province’ was. “In all Tamriel, Beta."  
  
  
"Forgive me if I ask, but why do you keep using that word?" Inoichi asked.  
  
  
"Dragonfires?"  
  
  
"No, Akavir. It's a bit... archaic—”  
  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
  
“Old. Very old. And with that I mean centuries before the Warring Clans era."  
  
  
"The war what?"  
  
  
"... right. I guess that we'll also have to teach you all a bit of history, too."  
  
  
“Just give us some books later. We can read. Mostly.”  
  
  
“Very well," Inoichi nodded, writing something on one of those paper-chests. "So, what are the… ‘Dragonfires’? And how that has anything to do with the daedra you captured?”  
  
  
Conrad pinched his nose, wondering how much context was needed to explain  _that_ to someone that didn't know about the daedra and Oblivion.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
What followed was the most irritating explanation Conrad ever had to give, combined with a long walk through back alleys and continuous detours to keep their group, specifically him, away from the crowd. Everytime he had to explain a simple concept, he would have to go off tangent just to clarify. Adding to that the fact that he couldn’t translate some words correctly, he was sure that he was butchering any grimoire of cosmology regarding Nirn he had ever read.  
  
  
What really irritated him, though, was the reactions to his explanation. Inoichi was listening and asking questions, sure, but Conrad couldn’t shake the sensation that he wasn’t been taken completely seriously. It was one thing to explain the various daedra and the chaos and bloodshed they sowed when they were summoned by moronic spellcasters. Or the cults around the powerful and cruel entities, that much Inoichi could grasp. Akavir had those too, it seemed. But the suspension of disbelief seemed to shut down when Conrad got around to explaining about the Princes.  
  
  
“You’re talking about gods,” Inoichi said, the utter disbelief in his voice making Conrad want to punch him.  
  
  
“No,” Conrad gritted his teeth, disliking the comparison. “Not gods, not really. Gods are… nicer. And more quiet. Princes are… different.”  
  
  
“So you have demons  _and_  gods, neither of which anyone on this continent has heard of before now.”  
  
  
“Yes.” Conrad nodded. That was pretty much it. Calling daedra ‘demons’ was not completely correct but he wasn’t going to complain if saying so was going to get the point across.  
  
  
Inoichi threw his hands up in the air. “How am I supposed to believe this?! It’s one thing to capture a weird red-skinned thing you call a daemon, but now you’re telling me about  _actual godlike beings_  higher up the food chain?”  
  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Conrad repeated, frustrated. What was so difficult to understand about it?  
  
  
“Look, I don’t want to offend you by criticizing your religion or your beliefs,” the Yamanaka started, carefully measuring his words. “But I can’t take that as a valid reason to consider that prisoner a threat as big as you claim.”  
  
  
Now, Conrad had become a teacher by a cruel twist of fate. Even if he hadn’t planned to, he had become well-versed in explaining about Mundus and Oblivion and the various Divines and Daedric Princes therein, but he was used to explaining it to students who knew he was right. It slowly dawned on Conrad that Inoichi wasn’t taking him seriously, like if he was telling fables or other make-believe stories. That made him mad.  
  
  
"Listen, daedra, atronachs, and scamps are dangerous,” he started, ignoring the man’s confused expression at the unknown words. Served him right, now he knew what it felt like. “They useful when summoned for specific purpose, tied to the summoner, controlled. But Daedra only see mortals as less... beneath them. With the Princes? Is worse."  
  
  
At this Inoichi seemed to pause in place. While he didn’t look convinced, a reluctant caution was clear in his eyes all the same. Good. He was listening.  
  
  
"They are older than the world. Very powerful. Very dangerous,” Conrad continued, as the magelings stopped in their tracks, doing their best to not drop the little luggage they had to take care of. Conrad was ready to bet that the guards that had been shadowing them from the rooftops had stopped, too. “They treat men like toys, like puppets. They interfere and force things to go their way."  
  
  
“Wait, stop,” Inoichi said, raising an arm. “Say I believe you. Say these… ‘Princes’ are real, that where they come from is real.  _How_  do they interfere? Why? What are their motives?”  
  
  
Conrad grimaced. Some things just couldn’t be sugar-coated. How to explain their motives? Their reasons? Especially with his limited grasp on the Akaviri language.  
  
  
Mehrunes Dagon, who had orchestrated the Oblivion Crisis. Boethiah, master of murder and treachery. Clavicus Vile, who loved playing cruel tricks to those mad enough to ask for his help. Vaermina, who domained over nightmares. Molag Bar, the King of Rape. Namira, the patron of cannibalism. Sanguine, who would probably show up to offer a pint or two to everyone if Conrad got really, really really drunk. Sheogorath, the only Prince Conrad had not been crazy enough to double-cross out of spite. Hermaeus Mora...  
  
  
And all the others, of course. Even the most “benevolent” ones, like Meridia and Azura, extended their influence on the world for the same reason after all.  
  
  
“Because they can,” the Nord finally said. As Inoichi’s eyes widened slightly, Conrad kept walking without looking back.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Ino sighed loudly and, much to her disappointment, her teammates didn’t seem to care. They had just finished a long, long morning of D-rank missions all over the village, a fate shared by every genin and possibly some unlucky chunin after the invasion was over.  
  
  
Since Asuma-sensei was out of Konoha right now and Shikamaru was too lazy to actually train without their teacher, the three of them had decided to crash at the Yamanaka clan compound. Although, technically, it wasn’t a proper compound. It was closer to a couple of normal roads where most of the Yamanaka clansmen lived, alongside a lot of simple villagers and shopkeepers. The Yamanaka didn’t even own the place, but when she was younger Ino was a little jealous that the Nara had those big clan grounds with a whole forest to keep their deers in as well, so she had started to call the area around her home like that and it had stuck.  
  
  
This of course meant that Ino, Shikamaru and Chouji were just sitting on a bench besides Ino’s home.  
  
  
"I'm bored," Ino admitted, hoping that it would have more effect than sighing.  
  
  
"Here, my mom packed me some extra snacks," Chouji replied, immediately offering her something wrapped in a linen cloth. Shikamaru obviously didn't even look up.  
  
  
"How is eating a way to stop boredom?" she asked.  
  
  
"If you eat your food slowly, enjoying every single flavor and its texture, the world will stop being boring,” he explained in what she supposed was an attempt for a sagely tone. “Trust me—is that your dad?"  
  
  
Ino turned and noticed that, indeed, her father was coming home earlier. Along with four strangers, all carrying a few boxes each.  
  
  
“Who are those people?” she asked aloud. “Shikamaru, did you ever see a team like them?”  
  
  
Shikamaru whispered something that suspiciously sounded like “troublesome”, but he did indeed look up. “No. I don’t see any headband either,” he said. Ino blinked, and realized that it was indeed the case. Then Shikamaru spoke again in an unusually confused tone. “Is that guy dressed like a cat?”  
  
  
“I think so, but why would—Is that a  _tail_?!” Ino almost shrieked as she spotted said appendage swishing and swirling behind one of the unknown genin. Or whatever they were.  
  
  
It was official, boredom was over. Ino got up, dusted herself off and walked towards the odd group plus parent.  
  
  
“Hello, Dad,” she greeted, stopping a short distance from them. “Who are these people?  
  
  
“Ino?” his father asked, looking surprised at seeing her. “Shouldn’t you be with your team?”  
  
  
“My team is over there,” she said, gesturing at the bench. Chouji waved. “We finished our D-ranks.”  
  
  
“Ah, I see,” he said, looking like he wasn’t seeing at all. Actually, he sounded very… off, for some reason.  
  
  
“Are you alright?” she asked, ignoring the curious glances from the others. “You look pale.”  
  
  
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you. I just have… a lot of going on right now,” Inoichi sighed.  
  
  
“Is this yours?” the man leading the strangers asked her father, pointing at her. There was an accent in his voice, a very strange one, but Ino couldn’t recognize it.  
  
  
“Oh, right,” her dad said, as if he had just remembered that they were there. “Harissen-san, this is my daughter Ino. Ino, this is Harissen-san and his students. They’re going to stay with us for a while.”  
  
  
"What? Seriously?" she asked, giving another glance at the odd bunch.  
  
  
"Of course, we have room to spare," her father said, all but ushering the four strangers in the house.  
  
  
Ino just stared at the doorway for a bit, wondering why her father was in such a hurry. Gesturing at her teammates to follow her, she walked inside just in time to hear some argument about shoes inside of the house between the two adults. The other genin, if they even were genin, were looking around the house in awe, much to Ino’s confusion. Sure it was a nice house but it wasn’t luxurious or fancily decorated.  
  
  
After her father had finished explaining that boots were supposed to be taken off before entering someone’s house, he opened a door to a spare room that Ino was sure had been used to keep supplies for the flower shop until that morning. The not-smelly ones, obviously. “Here, this is where you will sleep.”  
  
  
"Dad, what's going on?" she asked as the strangers started putting their things down.  
  
  
"I know it's a bit sudden, but it's an emergency. It will only be for a few days, though."  
  
  
"But do we even know them? Why would you invite four strangers in our house?"  
  
  
"Oh they're not strangers, I've seen them a lot in the last months," Inoichi explained as he gave worried look to the newcomers. “Please, tell your mother I'll explain when I get back."  
  
  
"You didn't even tell Mom?!" she asked. This was  _not_  normal. "Wait, where are you going now?"  
  
  
"It was a last-second decision, and I need to talk to Shikaku about a few things."  
  
  
"Dad—"  
  
  
"I'm sorry, Ino," he sighed, putting both of his hands on her shoulders. "I know you have questions, but it's all a bit hectic right now. I'll try to be home and explain as soon as I can. Sounds good?"  
  
  
"Alright," she said. "But you better have a good explanation for Mom."  
  
  
"Of course," her father said with a small smile. "Oh, and one more thing: please do not bother Harissen-san too much."  
  
  
And with that, he left the house leaving her even more confused. Not bothering a guest? She would've asked some questions, it wasn't that bothersome. Right?  
  
  
She joined Shikamaru and Chouji in the living room and kept an eye on the strangers moving around the house. They stared, of course. What else could they do? They had never seen people this strange before. Their clothes were odd and they seemed to be speaking gibberish. Or in code. Why would they speak in code?  
  
  
Oh right and one of them was a  _cat_. Overall, it would've been odd if they had not stared. Even if the cat-boy seemed a bit unnerved by them.  
  
  
"That's odd," Shikamaru murmured before taking a sip of juice he had helped himself to.  
  
  
"Of course it's odd," Chouji agreed, eating some chips. "It's a cat. But... human-like."  
  
  
“Chouji, ‘it’ is a ‘he',” Ino clarified. She was almost certain that the cat-boy wasn't a pet. Must have been some odd bloodline limit, she hoped it was worth it.  
  
  
"No, not that. I mean sure, they're all a bit odd. But their sensei is the oddest among them," the young Nara continued.  
  
  
"How is that guy weirder than a cat-boy?" she asked. To be honest, had her father showed up with only him, she would have suspected that he had taken pity on a hobo or something.  
  
  
"It's just... did your father ever show you any pictures of when they were young?" he asked.  
  
  
"I wish he didn't. I can't believe he used to wear a mullet," Ino snorted. Seriously, what had her dad been thinking?  
  
  
"I know it sounds weird, but I could swear that I saw that guy over there in a few of—"  
  
  
"Hey, you three!" Harissen-san called, peeking from the improvised guest room. "You genin?"  
  
  
"Huh? I mean, yes we are, sir," Chouji answered. Ino frowned; the guy couldn't tell? Maybe he wasn't a shinobi then.  
  
  
"Do you know Naruto?" the man asked, walking closer.  
  
  
"Naruto?" Ino asked, confused as much as her teammates. Why would this person ask about Naruto?  
  
  
"Has same eyes and hair I do. Loud. Orange. Short," Harissen-san clarified, using his hand to emphasize the last part. "You know where he is?"  
  
  
"We know Naruto, yes," Ino replied, talking slowly because if the man spoke like that he probably wasn't too bright. "But why do you want to know where he is?"  
  
  
"I am his uncle," the man said matter-of-factly. Shikamaru immediately started choking on his juice, but thankfully Chouji promptly jumped to his help.  
  
  
"But... Naruto doesn't have any family," Ino couldn't help but say, ignoring Shikamaru's coughs.  
  
  
"He does now," he grumbled, crossing his arms. "Ask Inoichi if you not believe me."  
  
  
A moment of silence followed that. Ino couldn't believe it. Actually, she didn't believe it. Naruto was an orphan and lived alone... that was why he acted like he did, right?  
  
  
"Well?" the man asked.  
  
  
"Well what?" she asked back.  
  
  
"Do you know where Naruto is?"  
  
  
"He and his team were assigned D-rank missions around the village, like us," Ino explained, noticing how confused the man was by her explanation for some reason. "So they could be anywhere."  
  
  
"I see," Harissen-san pondered on this for a bit. "I look for him then."  
  
  
“Are we allowed to?” the cat-boy called as the man walked by the exit and started putting his boots on.  
  
  
“Allowed to what?” she asked.  
  
  
“Go outside?” the cat asked.  
  
  
“Why wouldn’t you be allowed to go outside?” Chouji asked. Ino and Shikamaru shared a glance. This wasn't normal, at all. She wanted to ask questions but she remembered her father's words and bit her tongue. Then the probably mentally-impaired stranger started rummaging through a closet and throwing clothes on the floor.  
  
  
“Hey, you can’t do that!” Ino called him out.  
  
  
“I will put it back,” the strange man replied, not even bothering to apologise.  
  
  
“Th-That’s not the point!” She sputtered. “You have to  _ask_  before taking clothes!”  
  
  
Harrisen-san swivelled around to stare flatly at her. “May I have clothes?” And then, pointedly not waiting for her answer, went back to rummaging through the closet.  
  
  
Ino went red in the face from sheer indignation, her voice failing her at the audacity of this man. Only  _Naruto’s_  uncle could possibly be this rude. And since when did Naruto have an uncle? Hadn’t Naruto been an orphan since he was born? Why would a relative show up now? In  _her_ house, of all places!  
  
  
Her unspoken questions ceased as Harrisen-san pulled something out of the closet and put then on. Ino blinked. The man was now sporting her grandfather’s old raincoat and the big, obvious straw hat that her father used sometimes for gardening.  
  
  
“Those look  _terrible_  on you,” she blurted out.  
  
  
“I do not care about how look, girl,” the rude man snorted.  
  
  
Ino’s eye twitched. “Ino.  _I-no_. Not  _girl,_  Ino.”  
  
  
“Sorry, Ino then,” Harrisen-san dismissively said, already walking out the door.  
  
  
“Sen-sorry, Master, where are you going?” one of the other strange people called out. It was the girl this time. She looked worried. Ino supposed she had been here during the invasion and was still rattled up. She still was as well.  
  
  
“I go walk around some,” Harrisen-san called out, pausing at the door, with the wide, ugly straw hat shadowing his face. “Sven, no magic.”  
  
  
“I said sorry!”  
  
  
“Magic?” Ino asked flatly. “Don’t you mean jutsu?”  
  
  
But instead of answering, Harissen-san just slammed the door shut.  
  
  
Very well then. If her father had asked her to not bother Harissen-san, she wouldn't. Especially since he was gone.  
  
  
No one had said anything about the man's genin, though.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Despite his gods awful ‘disguise’, nobody noticed Conrad as he walked around the city.  
  
  
It was odd, walking around Konoha’s streets on his own for the first time. The first time without having to run frantically not having to kill someone, at least. In his voyage to reach it, he had passed only through some small villages. If this place was similar to other larger settlements, then Akaviri cities were larger, cleaner and more chaotic than he was used to.  
  
  
There were also exotic things, from the decorations to their strange technology to the ways the buildings were built. He supposed that when half of the population seemed to be able to jump from a building to another in a single bound, architecture had to take it in account.  
  
  
Every now and then he passed by some places that had been hit by the battle, and the population seemed to work as much as they could to fix the damages as soon as possible.  
  
  
It reminded him of a anthill, cleaning up as soon as the battle with their rivals was over.  
  
  
He didn’t have time to sight-seeing though; he had to find Naruto. He dodged into an alley to cut around a partially collapsed building. As expected, he felt someone landing behind him.  
  
  
“If you really wanted to go out, you could at least try to be  _subtle_  about it, Harissen-san,” the man with an owl mask said in an admonishing tone. Conrad guessed that he had been walking around Konoha  _mostly_  on his own, then.  
  
  
“Why? Nobody cares,” he said. It was true, and he could see how this frustrated the masked guard a bit. The clothes he had borrowed would’ve been easy to spot in the middle of a crowd, just like a hooded robe. But just like a hooded robe, most people didn’t seem to notice until the person with said hood didn’t do anything out of ordinary.  
  
  
Apparently, some things were universal.  
  
  
Ignoring a protest about safety and protocols and other words he didn’t understand, he concentrated on his nephew and summoned magika to his hand to cast a clairvoyance spell. The man grabbed his hand and shook his head as if he were scolding a child.  
  
“Don’t use that jutsu, Harissen-san. The village is already tense even without seeing your blue lights again.”  
  
  
Conrad inwardly grumbled about how his spell wasn’t neither dangerous or scary, especially the weaker, basic version he had intended to use. He looked at the crowded street out of the alley. “How is the city, after attack?”  
  
  
“We’re rebuilding,” the Owl-man said curtly. Conrad suspected he didn’t want to share details with an outsider.  
  
  
“I am sorry for your men. They died to protect my students,” he said, sincerely. As much as he had quickly came to dislike shinobi, the masked guards had shed blood and lost some of their own to protect his apprentices.  
  
  
The ninja with an owl mask seemed taken back by this. “Thank you,” he replied after a few seconds. “I’m glad that the invaders didn’t harm your students.”  
  
  
“Thank you. Speaking of which… it is odd?” Conrad asked. Time to test a little theory of his.  
  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
  
“The city was attacked, but from what I remember, there was no battle close to the mountain. Yet four invaders attack where my students and I lived for a month.”  
  
  
He noticed as the Owl-man went more still than usual at hearing his words. He would have gladly paid his own weight in gold to see the man’s face, but he could tell he was being very careful now.  
  
  
“Almost like they know where to find us,” Conrad continued, deciding prod a bit more forcefully. “Good thing we moved to Inoichi’s house. He is a little important in the city, is he not?”  
  
  
“Yamanaka-sama is a clan head, that is true. It would be unwise to attack his residence,” the masked man replied in a forcefully neutral tone. Conrad wondered if the Owl-man trying to tell him that they were supposed to be safe there without admitting anything.  
  
  
The man was probably too loyal to speak against his superiors, or sworn to secrecy or something similar, given how much paranoia seemed to be considered a virtue among shinobi. The Nord couldn’t help but think that he had suspected right -- those invaders weren’t invaders, they were from Konoha.  
  
  
But who? If the old Kage wanted him dead or thrown in a cell, he would have ordered it a long time ago. Not that it would’ve worked, obviously. A separate faction, maybe? A secret cabal? Why attack his students? Were they trying to attack him through them? And why was Owl apparently not allowed to speak on it?  
  
  
Conrad bit back a curse.  _Politics_. He had managed to get himself involved in some mess even so far away from home.  
  
  
“I guess you right, I should thank him for having us in his house,” he replied, wondering what was the word for ‘hospitality’ and deciding that he would deal with it when he knew more. Then he tried to cast the spell like if the last chat had not happened at all. “Now, where is the boy—”  
  
  
Owl grabbed his hand again, his voice clearly exasperated this time. “Please, don’t. Let me find him, and I’ll take you to him.”  
  
  
“Lead the way,” Conrad said cheerfully. Finally some cooperation.  
  
  
Once again he found himself walking around Konoha’s busy streets, looking up every once in a while to look for Owl. Nobody seemed to notice the masked guard moving above them, they were probably used to seeing people running over their heads.  
  
  
He had no idea how Owl-man was tracking down Naruto, but as long as the ninja was doing his job, Conrad didn’t really care. Every once in a while the masked guard would appear on a rooftop and point in a direction before leaping away in a single bound.  
  
  
Soon, Conrad found himself standing in the front of a strange, short building. It looked like a store without a front wall. Instead, a half-curtain with big red runes concealed the inside. He glanced at the masked shinobi sitting on the roof and walked towards the shop’s wide entrance.  
  
  
He was invested by the smell of food being cooked and a sight that reminded him of a inn counter. He idly wondered if they had booze while a familiar voice assaulted his eardrums as soon as he moved past the small curtain.  
  
  
"Old man! Another bowl, please!" Naruto was sitting on a tall stool, alongside his two friends and their sensei, who seemed to be the only one that had noticed him.  
  
  
"There you are," Conrad greeted, taking off his hat. "I had to ask an owl to find you."  
  
  
"Huh? Uncle!" Naruto exclaimed as he turned towards him. The other kids greeted him, or at least the girl with pink hair did. The other one and Kakawhateverhisnamewas just gave him a glance. The old man behind the counter, instead, looked like he was about to faint at any moment's notice.  
  
  
"Hello, Naruto," he said, sitting besides the kid and putting the hat on the counter. "How are you?"  
  
  
"Tired," Naruto grumbled. "We spent the whole morning doing D-ranks. It was awful."  
  
  
"Why? Are... D-ranks that bad?" he asked, trying to pronounce the unfamiliar term and doing a bad job at it.  
  
  
"Yes they are," all three children agreed immediately.  
  
  
"We had to help with the clean-up duty, Harrisen-san," their sensei explained. "Picking up the rubble, helping people moving their belongings, that sort of stuff."  
  
  
" _We_  did that, Kakashi-sensei,” the girl protested. “You disappeared the whole morning!”  
  
  
"You have your D-ranks, I have mine," the man said with the tone that every teacher used to speak with their students. "Speaking of which, Teuchi-san, could I have four large bowls to take away, please?"  
  
  
Hearing his name, the food stall's owner seemed to snap out of his reverie and stopped looking at Conrad like he was a ghost, opting to serve his customers instead.  
  
  
"What is that stuff?" the Nord asked as the cook put some odd, white worm-looking things in a pot behind the counter.  
  
  
"It's ramen!" Naruto helpfully answered, before looking at him in confusion. "You don't know ramen?"  
  
  
"We do not have in Skyrim," he explained. Or in the rest of Tamriel, as far as he knew.  
  
  
"No ramen..." Naruto muttered, his eyes going glassy for a moment, like he had just been told the most terrible news he could ever hear. Then, he turned to the cook with a determined expression. "Old man! A pork ramen bowl for my uncle!"  
  
  
“Your  _uncle_?” the man called Teuchi asked, stopping right in the middle of putting some ingredients together. Conrad inwardly sighed. This was going to happen every time he was introduced to someone here, wasn’t it?  
  
  
“Yup!” the boy nodded, happy as a clam.  
  
  
The stall owner glanced at Conrad for a few seconds before giving him a friendly smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Na—I'm sorry, Harissen-san was it?"  
  
  
The Nord gave him a nod and the man went back to his cooking. So, yet another person that had known his brother. Naruto didn't seem to notice though, mesmerized as he was in his odd broth.  
  
  
As the cook worked on yet another order, Kakashi leaned a bit on the counter with a lazy attitude. "So, Harissen-san... how are you enjoying the sights and scenery so far?"  
  
  
The genin gave an odd look at their sensei, while Conrad recalled the buildings damaged from the battle. "Difficult," he answered, looking at the cyclops directly in the eye.  
  
  
"Ah, well, maybe it wasn't the best timing," Kakashi mused. "Is Konoha much different from what you're used to?"  
  
  
“Warm,” he started. But to be fair, pretty much every country was warmer than Skyrim. “There are strange things. Less monsters… and only humans.”  
  
  
“Only humans? What do you mean by that?”  
  
  
“You know, only people like me, you, them,” Conrad tried to explain, gesturing at everyone. Sadly, Inoichi had not taught him the word used for different races.  
  
  
“You mean like your student? The cat one?” Naruto asked.  
  
  
“Cat student?” Kakashi asked, arching his only visible eyebrow. “Like a summon?”  
  
  
“No, Kakashi-sensei,” Naruto answered before Conrad could. “It’s like a guy, see? But with a cat face and ears and a tail and everything else—”  
  
  
“Are you saying that where you are from there’s… not humans?” the shinobi asked, clearly finding the concept odd.  
  
  
“Yes, many types,” Conrad nodded, turning to Naruto. “And the word for Ta’Sava’s kind is ‘Khajiit’.”  
  
  
"Ka-ji-to?" Naruto tried to repeat.  
  
  
"No, it's 'Khajiit',” he repeated.  
  
  
"Kah-iit?" the boy tried again. Conrad couldn’t help but be amused to not being the only one butchering a word’s pronunciation.  
  
  
"Khajiit,” he repeated again. “Kah-Jheet."  
  
  
"Kah—” Naruto started again, only to stop when a steaming bowl was placed in front of him. All his attention was stolen from the food. “Oh! Thank you, old man!”  
  
  
Conrad observed as his nephew picked the two small sticks that all Akaviri seemed to think were the best eating instrument ever and, after what looked like a quick prayer, tried to eat a soup with them. Much to his surprise, the sticks were used to fish the long snake-things from the soup. Then, much to his shock, Naruto started slurping them with a very, very loud noise.  
  
  
“What are you doing?” he asked, wondering who had taught the boy table manners.  
  
  
“Wat’chu mean?” the boy asked, his words muffled by the food in his mouth.  
  
  
“Naruto, don’t talk while you eat,” the pink-haired girl admonished him.  
  
  
“Sorry, Sakura-chan,” Naruto muttered as he bit through another mouthful. “What do you mean, uncle?”  
  
  
“That noise,” Conrad said, wondering how eating with a full mouth was bad manners but making sounds with the food apparently wasn’t.  
  
  
“But that’s normal, I have—Oh, right. You don’t have ramen where you are from.”  
  
  
“Slurping the noodles is good manners, Harissen-san,” Kakashi offered as an explanation. “It’s to show that you’re enjoying the food.”  
  
  
Conrad pondered about this for all one second before deciding that it was yet another example of Akavir being just plain weird.  
  
  
“Here you go, Kakashi,” the cook called, offering an odd bag to the shinobi. “Enjoy your food!”  
  
  
Kakashi thanked the older man, paid not only for the food he had bought but also for the genin and Conrad’s as well. He would’ve protested, but quickly realized that he had no money with him, especially not the kind that the Akaviri seemed to prefer. Seriously, who used paper as money anyway?  
  
  
“See you tomorrow for practice,” Kakashi said to the children before turning to Conrad. “I hope we’ll be able to talk soon, Harissen-san.”  
  
  
Conrad watched as the man left, apparently without a care in the world. He didn't like him. There was something off in the way he acted, but the Nord wasn't able to figure it out yet. He couldn't help but wonder if he was involved in whatever ninja politics were undergoing around the city.  
  
  
That wasn't all, though. Conrad still didn't know many details about how shinobi worked and did things, they were a secretive and strange folk like that. But either Kakashi or someone else above him had decided to send Naruto and the other two kids he didn't particularly care for to risk their lives in a battle.  
  
  
"Harissen-san? Sorry if I ask, but you said that you're from a very far away land?" the girl asked before he could make up his mind if he wanted to torch this place down or not.  
  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
  
"What kind of shinobi live there? Are they different from us?"  
  
  
"Are they strong?" the other boy asked, almost eagerly.  
  
  
"There are no shinobi in Tamriel," he answered as patiently as he could.  
  
  
The two children gaped at him as he had suddenly grown a pair of wings.  
  
  
"No shinobi?" the pink haired one muttered.  
  
  
"Odd, right?" Naruto said after a quick slurp of his food.  
  
  
"But he used jutsu, we saw him," the other boy protested.  
  
  
"That was magic, boy," he clarified. The two children looked at him for a moment, before glancing at Naruto.  
  
  
"It's true," Naruto said with a shrug. "Hey, why don't you tell us about the place you come from?"  
  
  
And so Conrad started explaining about Tamriel and Skyrim, butchering the subject in question once again thanks to his limited knowledge of Akaviri language. It was frustrating as expected, mostly because he had just gone through something similar with Inoichi. These kids knew nothing of the continent so he had to explain a few things from the ground up.  
  
  
As if that wasn't enough they didn't seem convinced when he told them about the creatures and monsters that infested the land: they were probably too used to the idea of giant creatures to believe him.  
  
  
The cook offered him a short break from all the questioning in the form of a steaming bowl of this "ramen" soup, but he failed miserably when he tried to eat it the way they did. In the end he settled on drinking all the broth and chewing the things inside later, much to his nephew's horror.  
  
  
"That's not how you eat ramen!" he cried.  
  
  
"And yet it works," Conrad shrugged, trying to savor the taste. Strong, but a bit too salty for his liking.  
  
  
Naruto shuddered before going back to his own meal. There was an awkward silence before the pink haired one popped another question.  
  
  
“What is your home like, Harrissen-san?”  
  
  
“I told you about Skyrim,” Conrad replied. Sure, it had been a broken and brief explanation, but had they even listened? Or was his homeland so boring?  
  
  
“No, I meant your  _home-home_. Where you live,” the girl explained.  
  
  
“I have a house in Whiterun, but I do not stay there a lot of time.”  
  
  
“Why not?” Naruto piped up. “Don’t you have a family there or something?” His eyes went wide all of sudden and he began to nearly vibrate in his seat with excitement.  
  
  
“Hey, Sasuke, we have to go,” the girl said a bit too loudly before Conrad could answer. “We’ll be late to give our reports, remember?”  
  
  
“What are you—Oh, right, the reports,” the boy said, changing his tune at the last moment. “I guess we’ll leave.”  
  
  
“Wait, if you have to give a report, I have to come too,” Naruto said, sounding disappointed about having to leave.  
  
  
“We’ll take care of it! You hang out with your uncle!” the girl called, waving him back into his chair. And just like that, they were gone. Even the cook had suddenly found something important to do. The Nord felt a pang of gratefulness for being left alone with his nephew to talk about such a personal thing.  
  
  
Naruto looked at the still-swaying curtain for a little before returning his attention to Conrad, grinning in expectation. “So, do I have an aunt too?! Or…” Naruto gasped, a look of utter delight on his face. “ _Cousins?_ ”  
  
  
“No,” Conrad said, wincing when he saw the hope die in his nephew’s eyes. “I never married, or had children.” Or at least he thought so. Sure, he had a bit of a reputation, but he had always been careful.  
  
  
“Oh,” Naruto said softly, staring at his half-empty bowl. He looked up suddenly with a wavering smile. “At least I have you!”  
  
  
Conrad blinked in surprise at the child, before giving a smile mirroring his nephew’s. “I guess you are right, boy.”


	17. Unpleasant and Uncomfortable Truths

****“Are you even listening to me, Shikaku?” Inoichi asked.

  
  
The Nara rubbed his temples before looking up from a pile of reports that were cluttering the desk in his home office. When the Hokage had delegated the less important ones to him, he hadn’t expected so many. He should’ve known better.

  
  
“Yes Inoichi, I was listening to you. But I think you’re overreacting,” he said, looking at his longtime friend and teammate. “Harissen-san was probably just explaining his people’s beliefs to you.”

 

“No, he was very adamant that they weren’t just—Look, he _believed_ what he was saying!”

  
  
“Just because he believes it, doesn’t mean it’s true,” Shikaku said, trying to reason with the man.

 

“I know, I know. But you don’t—I’ve been studying that man for months now. While he could give Kakashi a run for his money when it comes to being a wreck, and almost certainly an alcoholic, he’s not crazy, and he’s not a liar.”

 

“I’m not saying that he is one, Inoichi. But you’re not thinking clearly—”

  
  
“Do you know what he asked for when he showed how those concoctions of his work?” Inoichi asked all of sudden.

 

“I didn’t know he asked for anything,” he wondered out loud.

 

“That’s right, he asked for _nothing_ . He didn’t think that such a thing should be a secret, because it’s _not_ where he is from. The same for that ‘magic’ of his… they teach it to anyone interested into it. _Anyone_ , can you believe it?”

  
  
“I understand how odd that sounds, but it _is_ a different culture,” Shikaku reasoned, wondering just how that would work. There were probably some restrictions the stranger had not mentioned, otherwise you would have an entire country overrun by impulsive idiots able to throw lightning from their hands with no hand signs or blow up multiple shinobi teams with a simple gesture. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with his claims about these… ‘Daedric’ people.”

 

“My point, Shikaku, is that he was talking about them like they were just another fact of life,” Inoichi said, putting his hands on the table and leaning forward. “Sure, he _fears_ them, but he was talking about them like they were common knowledge. They are just _normal_ for him, like the tides or the sun or the moon.”

 

“Are you sure you’re not letting your emotions cloud your judgement?” Shikaku asked, hating that he had to. “He has _his_ face, after all.” 

 

Inoichi stepped back, narrowing his eyes. “I _know_ he isn’t Minato!”

  
  
“You say that, but I’m not sure that you truly mean it. Do you realize that you invited a _stranger_ into your home? Where your _family_ lives?”

  
  
“Do you know how many of our wounded are still alive thanks to him? Because of the ‘alchemy’ he shared with us?” the Yamanaka countered. “I think that he deserves the benefit of the doubt by now, Minato’s brother or not.”

 

Shikaku sighed. “Look, I understand why you’re worried. I am too.” The idea of capricious, powerful beings able to influence the world with no fear of retaliation was a chilling concept, to say the least. “But what do you expect me to do without proof?”   


At the end, that was the heart of the problem. There was no evidence aside from a bitter man’s word.

  
  
“I want to interrogate the prisoner. The summon,” Inoichi said before Shikaku could ask which one. There had been plenty of prisoners left behind by the retreating Suna and Oto forces.

 

“The one that can’t even dispel itself?” he asked. This ‘Tamriel’ place was really odd.

 

Inoichi nodded. “According to Harissen-san, the… daedra, dromora, dremora, or whatever they’re called, they serve the ‘Daedric Princes’. If anyone can give us evidence, it’s him.”

  
“Then why aren’t you already at the T&I department?”

  
  
“Because I need the authorization of the Jonin Commander.”

 

Shikaku raised his hands with loud sigh, giving up. He picked a permit from his desk and quickly compiled it before passing it to his friend. “Don’t make me regret this.”

 

Inoichi nodded and left, a grim determination in his eyes.The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Shikaku alone once again.

  
  
Sitting back at the desk, he went back to studying the reports. After a few detailing the ongoing reparations on the village, he stumbled upon an unusual one. A smuggling ring had shown up out of the blue on the northern coasts of the Elemental Nations, possibly having operated for a longer time before the local authorities had become aware of their presence. So far the the criminals had not been caught, and since the ring was hitting the local economy instead of the Land of Fire’s, it hadn’t been deemed urgent, but that didn’t mean that Konoha’s informants wouldn’t keep their eyes on how the situation changed.

  
  
Looking at the date, Shikaku noticed something odd. It roughly coincided with the first sightings of Harrissen-san’s arrival in the Elemental Nations.

 

“Your brother is a very troublesome person, Minato,” he sighed.

 

* * *

 

Conrad looked around and, sure enough, he spotted the masked guard still tailing them from the rooftops. After eating all the ramen he could hold, which was a surprising amount given the boy’s size, Naruto had grabbed his sleeve and had began to pull him all over Konoha while spouting something about wanting to show him his place.   
  
Naruto was explaining what the shops and places and stuff around them were, pointing excitedly as Conrad tried to keep up. He spoke so quickly that he could barely understand half of the words. The crowd around the streets kept giving them odd glances, which given how loud Naruto was being, wasn’t that surprising.

 

“So, boy,” Conrad said, speaking while his nephew had finally stopped to take a breath. “How do you become a genin?"

 

“Oh, I went to the Academy for a few years—that's like, ninja school. Sooo boring—and then we had a test, but I, uh… I kind of failed that,” Naruto explained, looking a bit embarrassed by the last part.

  
  
“Failed?” he asked, frowning in confusion. “But you are a genin.”

  
  
“Yeah, I am. See, after I failed the test, Mizuki-sensei said that I could still graduate if I learned a jutsu from this scroll that the Old Man has...” Naruto trailed off after mentioning the old Kage. “I hope he’s okay.” 

  
“Who is Mizuki? I thought your teacher was Kakashi?”

  
  
“No, Kakashi-sensei is my jonin-sensei, Uncle. Mizuki-sensei was a teacher at the Academy,” Naruto started explaining, noticing the confused expression on Conrad’s face. “At the Academy, they teach kids. You know, until they graduate. Then, a jonin, who are super-cool ninja with tons of experience, start teaching you and your team.”

 

“Just teaching?”

  
  
“Well, no. You also go on missions.”

 

“Like D-ranks?” he asked, remembering how Inoichi’s daughter and Naruto’s friends were complaining about them.

 

“Yeah, like those,” Naruto grumbled, pulling a face. “But sometimes you get other missions, too.”

  
  
“Like what?”

  
  
“Like C-ranks!” Naruto stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

“What are C-ranks, Naruto?” Conrad asked patiently.

 

“More important missions, like fighting bandits or protecting people!”

 

Conrad found himself missing a step, his hands clenched to fists. “I see,” he said darkly. So the siege hadn’t been an exception because of dire necessities. Nor had the tournament been ceremonial. While he’d had his suspicions, it did nothing to quell the anger pooling in his gut. Children were not _fighters_ . Not at this age.   


Next to him, Naruto happily chirped on, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

  
  
“But anyway, I got the scroll and it was super cool! I learned a really strong jutsu from it! Iruka-sensei caught me, though...” 

  
“Another teacher at the Academy?” he asked, before realizing what the boy had said. “What do you mean, he caught you?”

  
  
“Mizuki-sensei… he lied, so that I would steal the scroll for him,” Naruto bit his lip for a moment, before speaking again. “Then… he attacked me.”

 

 _“WHAT?!”_ Conrad exclaimed loudly as he came to a stop, gaining the attention of everyone around the two of them, crappy disguise or not. It wasn’t the first time he’d made a scene in front of a crowd, so he didn’t care much for their glances at first, until he realized that they weren’t looking at him anymore. Instead, their eyes had quickly moved on to Naruto, looks turning into glares as harsh whispers started buzzing and the crowd around them became thicker.   


Why were they reacting to Naruto like that, and not to the suspicious looking stranger walking next to him?

 

Naruto was standing beside him, his demeanour completely changed from exuberant to worried, and Conrad didn't miss the anxious glance he stole at him. What in Oblivion was going on here?

 

“Hey, brat!” someone shouted. Turning around, Conrad saw that one of the people in the crowd was pointing at Naruto. “Leave that man alone!”   
  
Seriously, what in Oblivion was going on? He glanced at Naruto, who was looking back and forth between him and the rowdy passerby, obviously concerned.

 

"Didn't you hear me?" the man said, taking a few steps towards the boy. "I told you to—"

 

Conrad stepped in as soon as he saw the stranger moving towards Naruto, putting himself between the man and the boy. The citizen pulled back in surprise, clearly not expecting the Nord to get in the way.

  
“What do you want?” Conrad asked, straightening himself and glaring down at the man, tensing his body for good measure.

 

The man blinked at him for a moment, clearly not expecting this development. "Hold on, stranger! That kid—"  

 

"Leave the boy alone," Conrad said between gritted teeth. The man took a step back in shock and the crowd started whispering, their glares replaced by confusion. Conrad gave them a glare of his own. "What are you looking at?!"

 

The man backed off and the crowd slowly dispersed, still whispering and glancing at the pair. Only then did Conrad look back at Naruto. The boy met his eyes, trying—and failing—to hide the confusion and surprise in his eyes. What could he even be surprised about? It couldn't possibly have been Conrad jumping to his defence, could it?

 

He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and led him away, looking for a less crowded street.

  
“You well, boy?” he asked as soon as they weren’t surrounded by gawking or whispering people.  

  
  
“Yeah, I am,” Naruto said, with a flicker of emotions the Nord couldn't really place.

  
  
“What happened there?”

 

“The villagers, they… they don’t like me.”

 

“... why?”   


Naruto tensed for a moment before answering him. “I guess... it’s because I pulled a few too many pranks before becoming a ninja.”

 

“Pranks,” Conrad said flatly, deciding that his nephew was, among other things, a terrible liar.

 

“Y-yeah. You know, stuff like flooding the Academy. Or covering the teachers in glitter. Or drawing graffiti on the monument," he said, pointing at the faces on the mountain in the distance.

 

Conrad arched an eyebrow at the short list. “You did that?”

 

“Yeah! More than once!” the boy said, sounding a little better.

 

“... even your father’s face?” Conrad asked, trying to not smile and failing miserably.

  
“I didn’t know he was my dad back then…” Naruto said, pouting a bit.

  
  
Conrad snorted at that, while being pensive. If Naruto didn’t want to tell him the truth about why people disliked him, he wouldn’t pressure him. He could always find out later. Who knows, maybe normal citizens were uncomfortable with the idea of children fighting, killing, and…   


No, he didn’t want to think about _that_.

 

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, patting his nephew’s shoulder.

  
  
“This way.”

  
  
“So, this… Mizuki. Where is he?” Conrad asked.

  
  
“I… dunno,” Naruto shrugged. “I think he was arrested as a traitor.”

 

The Nord nodded, thinking that this Mizuki was lucky that the ninja of Konoha had gotten their hands on him already.

 

His nephew led him through a few other streets and back alleys until they reached an odd-looking building. It seemed to have seen better days, but it looked sturdy. Naruto guided him to the top floor, where he dug in his jacket for a key.

 

As they got inside, the boy reminded him to take off his boots, to which he begrudgingly obliged, taking off the hat and cloak as well.

 

With that out of the way, Conrad took a look around the rather small apartment. It seemed nice enough to live in, if you looked past the mess inside.

 

Clothes were strewn over the floor all over, and as he followed Naruto inside the kitchen he saw dirty dishes in the sink and empty packages of food piling on the counter. An odd smell lingered, like trash that had not been thrown away in time.

 

“Ah, sorry… I didn’t plan to bring any guests, so I didn’t clean up,” the boy said said, slightly embarrassed as he picked up the clothes and tried and failed to make the small kitchen look better. As he was distracted, Conrad passed a finger on a shelf and frowned at seeing so much dust. Why did the boy’s guardians, whoever they were, let the house be reduced to such a state?  


Although, Naruto had not called to anyone once they had arrived, not even to see if anyone was home...  


“Would you like some tea? I’ll make some tea,” Naruto said, starting to put water in a kettle before Conrad could say anything. The Nord stared, fascinated by how advanced the internal plumbing in Akavir was, even more than the ones in the Imperials’ thermae. The boy then put the kettle on some odd contraption and lo and behold, fire appeared. Without wood to feed it.

 

Sure, they didn’t know about alchemy, at least the way Tamriel did. But they had packaged food that could last for months, stick-like “quills” with their ink inside them, those not-magical lights that made the city shine at night, advanced plumbing and now a cooking fire without wood. Who knew what else he had not seen yet? Conrad idly speculated how all of these things could work, but he was no engineer. He couldn’t help but wondered how such an advanced civilization could be so barbaric to send children to the slaughter.

 

“I have only green tea… is that okay?” Naruto asked, as he produced a small package from a shelf.   


“It’s okay,” Conrad nodded, still finding the word odd. There probably wasn’t any booze in the house, so he didn’t even bother to ask. As his nephew started humming a tune, looking around for a couple of cups, he took a look at the rest of the house.   


 

The untidiness wasn’t normal, like the fact that no one would be home a little after lunch time. Picking up an odd-looking shirt, he noticed that all of them were children-sized clothes, not a single piece of adult garments in sight.   
  
He opened another door, hoping to find some answers. Instead, the unsettling feeling in his gut rose to new heights.  

 

Walking back to the kitchen, he saw that Naruto was setting the table for the two of them, with cups and a small bowl of sweet-looking dumplings.

 

“I think these are still good! I didn’t have time to get groceries, between the tournament and the invasion and the D-ranks and…” Naruto’s voice trailed off as he noticed how Conrad was staring at him from the kitchen’s door, silent. “Are you alright, Uncle?”  


“Why there is only one bed?” he asked, almost dreading the answer.

 

"Uhm... because there's only one person sleeping here?” Naruto asked with a confused frown, missing what he meant. “Oh, did you want to stay here? Maybe we could ask jiji to bring another bed!"

 

Conrad felt ice forming in his belly as he fully realized what his discovery meant. He slowly walked closer to Naruto and, much to the boy’s confusion, knelt down to look him in the eyes. After hesitating for a moment, he placed his hands on his shoulders. "Boy, how long have you been living on your own?"

 

* * *

 

Ishina was not having a good day. Surviving an invasion was supposed to be good news, but being kept in a room somewhere for days after it wasn’t. She should have expected it, honestly.   
  
Being imprisoned in all but name wasn’t what frustrated her the most, though.  

 

“I’m back!” Hatake Kakashi called cheerfully as he entered the room where her team had been confined to. He seemed to ignore their unamused glares as he placed a bag on the small table and dramatically revealed its content. “I brought you lunch.”   


“Ramen?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at the jonin.   


“From the best ramen stand in Konoha.”  


“It’s lukewarm,” Kurotsuchi grumbled as she picked up a bowl for herself.   


“I’m sorry, but on the way I met someone that reminded me of an old friend,” Kakashi explained in an almost bored tone.

 

All her ‘students’ looked at her, as if to ask if they should eat. She took a look at the ramen that was given to them by one of Konoha’s best jonin, sniffing. She didn’t smell anything odd and, after looking him in the eye, she picked up the chopsticks. If they wanted to kill them they would’ve used something less elaborate than offering them poisoned food. Probably.  


"So, why aren't we in a cell?" she asked as her ‘genin’ started eating.

 

"Because you’re not prisoners, obviously. You're guests."

 

"I didn't know that guests were forbidden to leave the village," Yano snarked, gaining a scowl from Ishina. As much as she didn’t like their situation, they didn’t need to antagonize Konoha-nin. For now.

 

"True, but most guests are not from a rival village. Or happened to show up for an invasion."

 

"Then why didn't you throw us into your T&I?"

 

"Well, you were attacked by both Suna and Oto shinobi during the battle. Especially her," the jonin said, pointing at Kurotsuchi. Ishina kept an emotionless façade, but she couldn’t say the same for her ‘students’. "If I have to take a guess, though, my Kage would like to know why you lied about being a genin team."

 

"What are you talking about?" Ishina asked, feigning ignorance. Before Kakashi could answer, though, the door opened to reveal a large man with white hair.

  
“Oh, Jiraiya-sama. Welcome. I was entertaining our guests,” Hatake greeted the newcomer. Ishina clenched her jaw at seeing both the Yellow Flash's mentor and pupil standing in front of her. She had to grasp her ramen bowl firmly to remember to not do anything stupid.   


“Really? I didn’t know we were having the Tsuchikage’s granddaughter as a guest in the village,” the Sannin said with a probably fake smile. She heard Mizu nervously hold his breath. Even Hatake looked surprised when he heard that.   


“No, you’re wrong,” Kurotsuchi tried to protest, her ramen all but forgotten. ”I’m not—”  


“I run a Hidden Village’s spy and intelligence network, girl. Don’t insult me,” the older shinobi said, taking a seat beside them.

 

“You already knew…?” Ishina asked, unable to remain silent. The Sannin shook his head.  


“I didn’t notice at first, because I was busy training an apprentice of mine,” Jiraiya said, seemingly not noticing or caring about Ishina’s shocked reaction. Another apprentice? The man that had _created_ the Yellow Flash was training another apprentice? “But after I was told that during the battle at the stadium some enemies had targeted her _specifically_ , well, I got curious.”

 

A moment of tense silence followed, none of the Iwa shinobi being interested in their food anymore.  


“You don’t like ramen? That’s too bad, now it’s getting cold,” Kakashi said, looking her in the eye. Ishina glared at him as hard as she could, but sadly that wasn’t enough to make him drop dead on the ground.

 

“We already know who you are, Gareki-san and Kurotsuchi-chan,” the Toad Sage started. “So why don’t you boys introduce yourself as well?”   


All her teammates looked at her, as if to ask what to do since she was the commanding officer. She thought over it for a long moment before nodding: their cover was blown anyway.

  
“My name is Toride Daiki,” ‘Mizu’ said begrudgingly.

 

“Kyoda Sota,” ‘Yano’ proclaimed defiantly.

 

Jiraiya looked skeptically at both of them for a short moment. “Never heard of you two. I guess you’re not that well known.” Both boys looked a bit miffed that a living legend of the shinobi world had not heard of them, for some reason. “I take it that Kurotsuchi-chan was chosen because there were no other recently-promoted chunin with enough skill for your assignment?”

 

“What do you want?” Ishina asked bitterly. There was obviously a reason why they were telling them this instead of throwing them into four isolation cells.    


“I’m just having a polite conversation with some important guests,” Jiraiya said with a too-wide grin to be fully genuine. “Although I would like to know why you decided to take the chunin exams _again_ , unless there was a valid reason to risk an international accident...?”

 

"You know why," Ishina said after pondering their options. If Iwa had heard about the Yellow Flash's sightings, so had Konoha. The two not-Iwa shinobi in the room had been involved in Namikaze Minato's life and if he was alive, they knew. Her answer was vague enough that it would allow her to gain time if they kept interrogating her.

  
She held the man’s gazes for a few seconds, feeling like his eyes were piercing her. “I see,” the Toad sage finally said and she couldn’t help but feel like he had not bought it in the least.

  
“What will happen to us, now?” Ishina asked, half-ready to jump over the table at this point. It would’ve been a suicidal move, especially with Kakashi of the Sharingan in the same room. Maybe she would be able to create an opening for her teammates, to give them a few seconds for—

 

“Nothing. Why would anything happen to you?” the Sannin asked, making a face like he didn’t know what she was talking about. “The chunin exams were interrupted by an invasion from a third party and you were caught in the middle of it. I'm sure that the Tsuchikage would be pleased to know that Konoha protected his candidates during such a troubling event, especially since one of them is his own granddaughter."   


Ishina could only gape at the older man. She had expected some form of interrogation about their mission, or why they had went undercover. Something. Not being asked anything wasn’t what a ninja expected when imprisoned in a foreign village.

  
  
“I’m sorry, but… _what_?” Kurotsuchi asked for all of them.

 

“If you would like, we could send a messenger hawk to Iwa, so that you can contact your Kage. Of course, we would also want to send a letter of our own to assure him that you not only helped fighting the invaders but that our jonin guaranteed your survival as well.”

 

“And tell him what?” Kurotsuchi asked bitterly. “That you intend to use me as a hostage?”

  
  
“No, to tell him to send someone to bring you home.”

 

* * *

 

Inoichi was starting to wonder if this had been a good idea.

 

He had expected an unusual experience since the mind he had entered was a summon’s and not a human’s, but he had not imagined it would be like this. The psyche was difficult to navigate, the scenery around him constantly shifting and twisting around him in a mess of labyrinthine halls, hallways, and the occasional odd structure that didn’t seem to follow traditional geometry. He couldn’t help but wonder if the daedra was able to unconsciously block him.

 

Or endanger him.   
  
Inoichi found himself stopping every now and then to throw a glance over his shoulder. He could swear that he had seen _something_ moving in the corner of his eyes, but everytime he looked back he saw just the twisting mindscape. The ninja kept saying to himself that he was just seeing things, but that didn’t stop the hair on his neck from standing.

 

Shaking his head, he took a step only for the stone floor to collapse all of sudden, turning into a cold sludge. The ceiling and walls crumbled to dust and Inoichi found himself staring at a cold, desolate landscape littered with ruins. It was colder than anything Inoichi ever felt, yet the sky itself was burning.

 

As the dust hit the sludge, creatures sprung up and began fighting all around him. Some were the not-quite human-looking dremora, like the summon he was mind-walking into, while others had significantly more monstrous appearances.

 

Small things that scampered around, overwhelming their opponents—or prey?—with sheer numbers. Mighty reptilian beasts that tore their enemies with claws and powerful jaws. Huge abominations that looked like an horrible fusion of human and spider blast whoever stood in front of them.

 

The battle wasn’t limited to the land, but raged in the sky as well. Winged creatures of different kinds fought among the blazing sky and a few of them fell into the sludgy ground every now and then.   


He found himself charging into the fray, a wicked-looking sword in his gauntleted hand. The weapon clashed with another daedra’s weapon, and Inoichi yelled in a cruel-sounding language with a voice that wasn’t his, feeling only contempt and hate for this enemy. The worm snarled and replied by trying to cleave him. Inoichi stepped back, having no control of his body.  
  
A memory. He had fallen into a memory without even noticing and was now witnessing the events from the daedra’s eyes, his conscience drowning into the dremora’s.

 

Definitely not a good idea.

 

He watched helplessly as his… no, the dremora’s body twisted to avoid the strike. He felt the gauntleted fingers gripping the sword’s hilt tighter before the whole arm went for a killing blow. The other dremora’s head was cut off from his neck, and tumbled down on the ground. As soon as it touched the foul-looking sludge that covered the surface of this strange land, it started to melt, as if it was made of a dark liquid. Everything else around Inoichi began to liquify as well, fighters and landscape alike.

 

A dark tide enveloped him, flushing him away. Inoichi found himself swimming against it, once again able to control his actions. He tried to focus, ignoring his instinct to breathe since he didn’t really need to here. Had the dremora’s mind thrown him out of a memory?

 

He felt himself being pulled away, like if he was trapped in a current or a whirlpool. No matter how hard he tried to swim against it, he ended being sucked into it. It was like falling and drowning at the same time.

 

The shinobi was half-expecting to crash on the bottom of some abyss when he suddenly found himself slamming against a chair, ending up in a sitting position. The cold numbness and the sensation of watery darkness on his body was gone.

 

It was a different memory, but he couldn’t tell if it had happened before or after the battle he had witnessed. He found himself sitting at what looked like a banquet table, chewing on something, once again unable to control his motions. Inoichi couldn’t place the taste but he could tell that the dremora was really enjoying it. He tried to take a look around and saw a plethora of other dremora partaking in the feast, drinking and eating and laughing.

 

He tried to get a good look at the room but he was forced to look at what the dremora was looking at, while one of the other patrons tried to involve him in some sort of conversation he couldn’t understand. Inoichi could tell that this individual bored him and he found what he said to be tedious and pointless. He was able to glance besides his seatmate, noticing how the vast room was decorated by a plethora of tapestries, most of them sporting a snake coiled around a fist.

 

He—no, not him dammit, the dremora—gulped and he felt the food slip down his throat and he found himself craving for more. He lazily turned around and grabbed something from a large bowl on the table.

 

Inoichi couldn’t help but stare. There was a bowl of _human hearts_ in the middle of the freaking table, and he was holding one in his hand. He couldn’t do anything to stop the hand from getting closer to his mouth, a dawning horror taking hold of his mind.   
  
He felt his… the dremora’s teeth bite into the organ’s flesh like if it was a ripe fruit. As expected, it was delicious—

 

Inoichi found himself wishing to be able to puke, as the dremora enjoyed his snack and made him savor every moment of it.

 

When the daedra stopped eating he was too relieved to immediately register the hushes falling over the feast. Daedra started turning in the same direction, whispering and getting up from their seats, only to fall to their knees. The dremora followed suit and Inoichi found himself staring at the floor as silence fell on the hall. The only sound belonged to some steps, getting closer and closer.

  
The dremora whose eyes he was looking through, having felt its horrid meal, felt… humble? No, not humble. It was more like being aware that he was in the presence of someone, or something, that stood at the top of the food chain. Something incredibly beyond his reach, to which he and his clan had sworn to serve.  

  
As Inoichi was intrigued at the discovery that dremora had clans and loyalties, someone passed right in front of him. He saw two heavy boots, followed by something like a cape, or a robe, that slithered behind them in an almost serpentine way.   


For a moment, the sounds of step grew more distant, echoing in the silent chamber. Then they stopped and, after a moment of hesitation, began getting closer again, until Inoichi saw the boots again stopping in front of him.  
  
He heard a command addressed to the dremora, and he obeyed, looking up. The being in front of him that put awe and fear in the daedra around him looked like a caped warrior with grey skin, but for some reason Inoichi wondered if it was a male or a female.   
  
The warrior was giving him— _the dremora_ , this was just a memory—a scrutinizing gaze, cocking his, or her, head.   


The creature said something, but no answer came from the dremora. Inoichi kept staring at the being’s eyes, starting to feel uncomfortable under their gaze. The robed warrior repeated the question, sounding impatient, and the shinobi realized that it wasn’t addressing the dremora.   
  
It was talking to _him_ .   


 

* * *

 

“Uncle, please slow down!” Naruto called, to little to no effect. He tagged along helplessly as his uncle stormed down the street. They got more than a few strange looks. "Where are you going?!"

 

"To _talk_ with the Hokage," the older man snapped.

 

"The Old Man is not at the tower, he's at the hospital," Naruto reminded him, noticing the direction they were going. His uncle seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he took a look around and changed direction. Naruto followed suit, his heart pounding in his chest. His uncle was furious, he could tell. Was he going to leave or something?

 

“Wait, stop!” Naruto yelped as he grabbed his uncle’s old coat. Instead of stopping, though, the man just kept walking, dragging Naruto behind him. The genin decided to change his approach and rushed in front of the man, pushing against him in an effort to get him to stop. He managed to get some results only when he started to stick to the ground with his chakra. "I don't know why you're angry, but I'm sorry! Please stop!"

 

At that, his uncle finally stopped pushing, and looked down at him in confusion. “I am not angry at _you_ , boy.”

 

Naruto looked up in surprise, and noticed how worried his uncle looked. "You're... you're not?"

 

"I am not."

 

"Why are you angry, then? I don't understand," he asked, and his uncle scowled again.

 

"I'm angry because they left you alone for no reason," the older man explained. Naruto opened his mouth, almost saying that there was a reason, but bit his lips before he said anything. What if his uncle got mad at _that_? What if he reacted like the villagers had?

 

"So I am going to talk to the Hokage and ask why you were not..." Conrad continued, not noticing Naruto’s almost slip up, only to trail off as he searched for the right word.

 

"... adopted?" Naruto offered. He hoped his uncle would learn more words soon.

 

"Does it mean have someone take care of you?"

 

"Yes? Mostly?"

  
“Then yes, I want to ask him that,” Conrad nodded. “Now, stop blocking me.”

  
  
Before Naruto could decide if he wanted to comply or protest, though, someone coughed loudly to be noticed. Both blondes turned to see an ANBU standing beside them.

 

“What do you want?” his uncle asked with a deeper scowl.

 

“Forgive me for interrupting your bonding moment, Harissen-san, Uzumaki-san, but I just got a message on my radio, and—”

  
  
“Your what?”

  
  
“Radio, it’s a device that—nevermind that, listen. There’ve been some problems with the prisoner that you helped capture, Harissen-san. They’re asking for your help.”   
  
Naruto remained silent as his uncle looked down to him. The boy had no idea what was going on, but he seemed really worried all of sudden. With a sigh, the man turned to the masked shinobi. “What kind of problems?”

 

* * *

 

 

The walls were unassuming and dull but kept giving Conrad a sense of déjà vù. It took him a moment or two to realize that he had been in this place roughly a month ago.

This was where he’d been taken when he and his students were captured. A pair of tense-looking shinobi directed him through a door, and brought him face-to-face with Inoichi.

 

The blond was sitting in a chair with a blanket draped over him, a steaming mug ignored in his hands. He wore a shell-shocked expression on his face like he’d just taken a walk through the Soul Cairn. Conrad looked at the other ninja present in the room, as if to ask an explanation, only to remember what Inoichi had done to him the last time he had been in this place.

 

"You... _moron_!" he hissed, walking close to the shaken man and grabbing him by the shoulders. "What did you do?!"

 

Inoichi blinked as if he was coming out of a trance and blandly stared at him.

 

“I… met one. He was in those memories. He talked to me. Conrad, he saw me and talked to me. He knew I was there. He knew.”

 

"You mean, the daedra knew--"

 

"No. It was... one of them. One of the others."

 

Inoichi's words hit their mark like a warhammer. Conred wanted to protest, to say that what Inoichi was trying to tell him was impossible, but he couldn't. If a daedric prince was involved, normality and plausibility had already been thrown out of the window. His chest felt tight, his throat dry and suffocating. How bad was it?

 

"I saw things…” Inoichi continued before the Nord could recover. “The sky was fire, and I drowned. And... the hearts. I ate one, and I—"  The shinobi paused, taking a deep breath and trying to compose himself. Mumbling an apology, he sipped the tea before opening his eyes again. "What have I done?"

 

Conrad opened his mouth as if to speak, not really knowing what he wanted to say. Before he could make a sound, a hand landed on his shoulder, making him flinch. He had almost forgotten that other people were in the room as well.

 

"Harissen-san," a man with spiky hair that looked somehow familiar said. "May I speak to you?"

 

Conrad gave a troubled look at Inoichi before following the other man out of the room.   
  
"Will he be alright?" the man asked after a few moments of silence.

 

"I don't know," Conrad answered, realizing why the man had looked familiar. He had met him along with Inoichi and a big fellow during the battle. "I don't even know why he would even try such a foolish thing."

 

The man’s eyes narrowed. “He did that to confirm your story.”

 

Conrad grimaced, realizing he had just put his foot in his mouth, boot and sock included.

 

The two of them stood in silence in the empty hallway before Inoichi's friend—whatever his name was—spoke again. "I need to know if we can contain this."

 

"I would have to speak with the daedra first. And they're not prone to collaborating with people."

 

"Can you persuade him?" the shinobi asked, his expression making it clear that he meant one way or another.

 

Conrad hummed, wondering about it. Forcing an unbound daedra to give some answers to a bunch of mortals he didn't like?

 

"I think I can try, but I'll need help," he finally said.

 

* * *

  
“Why am I here?!” Sven asked. Less than ten minutes ago he had been trying to avoid being interrogated by a twelve-year-old girl and then, after being pretty much kidnapped without any explanation, he was being pushed by his own teacher through a hallway full of cell doors.   
  
“Because you caused this mess and you’re going to do your best to fix it,” master Conrad explained in their native tongue as their shinobi escort stopped in front of a massive metal door. Sven was confused until he realized who could be behind that slab of iron.   


“Can’t we just banish him back to Oblivion? That would solve the problem, right?” he asked hopefully. That only gained him a serious look from the older Nord.  


“If he was telling the truth when we captured him, then no daedra had shown up on this continent for a millennia. Given that the shinobi don’t seem to know about them, he probably told us the truth. Or part of it,” he explained as the ninja started to work on the door. “Whatever reason for why this happened, I would rather find a way to salvage it.”   


“Why?” Sven asked, almost automatically.

 

Master Conrad gestured to the people beside them. "No matter how formidable their warriors are, they aren't equipped to deal with daedra. Tamriel has been used to that kind of trouble long before the Oblivion Crisis. Akavir, on the other hand, is utterly unprepared."

 

At that, Sven felt his throat become dry. "But then, if anything bad happens... it's because I—”

 

"Yes," the older wizard told him bluntly, not even sugar-coating it a little bit. Sven started feeling dizzy as he realized how badly he had screwed up. The Dovahkiin didn’t give him time to dwell on it, though. "Don’t think about it now. Remember, be careful about what you say in there, for daedra are known to twist a mortal’s words to get what they want. He wants to get free and be sent back to Oblivion, and we can’t allow that until we know more, understood?”

 

Gulping down whatever words he had wanted to say, Sven nodded, and his teacher Conrad nodded as well at the shinobi. With a loud creak, the metal door was slid open, and the two wizards walked inside.

 

The dremora looked unfazed by their presence, even after being encased from the neck down in a stone pillar covered in paper tags. Sven couldn’t say the same, feeling sweat starting to drench his skin at the sight of those unnatural eyes. The only reason he didn’t get rooted on the spot was the callous hand pushing him through the door.

 

He flinched as the door was slammed shut behind them, trapping him in the room. He was hit by a sense of vertigo as master Conrad let go of him and started to walk around the pillar, examining the paper filled with runes.   


Was he panicking? That couldn’t be right, _Beta_ was the one used to panicking. He was the one that liked books and cooking. 

  
“Aah, the young mage that summoned me came to visit,” the dremora said, looking straight at him. “Dismiss me, and I promise you that you will not suff—” 

  
There was a slapping sound and Sven felt his fear... not disappear, but mostly replaced by confusion, which seemed to peek from the daedra's face as well. He must have been seeing things. Obviously Master Conrad had not just slapped a dremora's head as if it was a petulant child.

 

Said dremora seemed to be thinking the same thing before his puzzled expression quickly morphed into anger. “You—”

 

“Sven here is not going to do such a thing, unless I tell him to,” the Nord said as he ignored the promise of pain and death and more pain and walked back to the front of the pillar, facing the dremora again. “And I won’t tell him until I’m satisfied. You see, I have questions—”  


“I don’t have to answer to you, _mortal_ ,” the dremora said as he tried to look back at Master Conrad, albeit it was rendered a tad difficult by the pillar. “I am not bound to your service, nor to your apprentice’s.”   


“You _will_ answer our questions, though,” the man said, in the coldest way than Sven had ever heard him. “Because if you don’t… I’ll rip your soul from your body with my bare hands.” 

  
Sven could’ve sworn that the dremora had stiffened for just a second, but he seemed to regain his composure as he spoke smugly. “You wouldn't dare... you don't want my master as an enemy."

 

"As if!” Master Conrad snorted, but there was no mirth behind it. “I doubt that whichever _bastard_ you serve would care for losing one among numberless servants.”

 

"You _dare?!_ ” the dremora bellowed, causing Sven to take a step back. Mostly in surprise for the sudden shout. Yes. That was the reason. “I serve Boethiah, the Dark Warrior, Deceiver of Nations, Queen—”

 

"You think I care?” the Nord told the daedra, shrugging off the nasty glare he was receiving.

 

“Err, master?” Sven said nervously. “You might not care about being the enemy of a Prince, but I’m not—”

 

He found himself silenced by a raised finger, as if to warn him to shut it. He wondered again why in the name of the Eight he had been forced to come if his opinion didn’t matter.

 

"I WILL FEAST UPON YOUR HEARTS AND INNARDS AS—"

 

"I am the damn _Dragonborn_ , you would never get the chance," Master Conrad said, his words stopping the daedra's angry tirade almost instantly. "You will either accept to be bound to my apprentice, or spend the rest of eternity in a soul gem."

 

Sven glanced at his teacher, surprised to hear those words. He had never heard Master Conrad talk about Enchanting. Besides, wouldn’t they need a black soul gem? The dremora remained silent, looking at the older wizard as if to peer into his soul.

 

"I could throw it in a well. Or use it to enchant something," the man kept going. "Not a weapon or an armor, mind you. Probably something stupid, like a kettle that warms your water faster.”

 

The dremora looked genuinely panicked at that.

 

"Actually, that doesn't sound _that_ stupid—" Sven said, only to stop as two pairs of eyes turned to glare at him simultaneously. After a few seconds, the dremora turned back to the Nord.   


“If I accept…”  


“Then you won’t be doomed for eternity to the Soul Cairn, and I won’t commit the greatest waste of an enchanting that the world has ever seen,” Master Conrad said.

  
“Very well... I accept your terms,” the daedra said with a resigned tone after a long silence.

 

“Sven, come here,” he was told. The Imperial boy obeyed, still looking warily at the dremora for a moment, before wondering what was he supposed to do. The scroll he had learned the spell hadn’t exactly explained what came next.  


“What should I do? Is there a ritual, a ceremonial phrase, or…?”   


“Just ask him if he submits.”   


Sven nodded and turned to the dremora, who was studying him intently. “Do you submit to my will?”   


“Yes, _Master_ ,” the dremora said with gritted teeth. “I submit.”

 

Sven waited for a few seconds, wondering if he was supposed to feel something. A tug, some connection between him and the daedra, anything. Could it really be that simple?   


“Now that the formalities are done, tell us why daedra haven’t shown up in Akavir for a millennia,” Master Conrad ordered, to which the dremora promptly… didn’t answer, opting for a smug, silent smile instead. 

  
Sven started wondering what could’ve gone wrong, if the dremora was actually bound, only to be snapped out of it by his mentor coughing. Was he getting sick or—Oh. 

  
“Tell us why the daedra didn’t appear in Akavir for a millennia,” Sven ordered with the most commanding voice he could muster. 

  
“And the Princes, too,” Conrad added as an afterthought.   


“And the Princes as well,” Sven repeated dutifully. At least the day was going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this months ago on other sites but I forgot to post it here... whoops.


	18. Of Gods, Men and Booze

 

**  
**“Master Conrad did _what_?!” Beta gasped, looking almost scandalized.

  
  
“He slapped the dremora over the head,” Sven repeated as he rinsed off another dish. “I saw it and I still can’t believe it.”

 

“Ta’Sava wonders… does that mean that Sven now has a dremora servant?” the young Khajiit asked as he dried a plate of his own.

 

“Technically… yes,” Sven slowly admitted.

 

“Then why isn’t the dremora washing the dishes?” Ta’Sava asked as he placed the now dried dish on a nearby stack. It had been a large dinner with themselves, Master Conrad, Naruto, Inoichi-san and his family as well as a couple of Inoichi’s friends that had been very worried. Once the dinner had finished, they had been put in charge of washing the dishes as a way to thank the Yamanaka for their hospitality and, as Master Conrad had put it, as collective punishment for dabbling in magic they should not even have known existed yet.

 

No magic allowed, obviously. At least being alone in the kitchen allowed them to speak in their native language.

 

“Because it’s still locked in a cell,” Sven replied before smirking. “He protested, but Master Conrad told him that our deal didn’t say anything about letting him out of the cell.”

 

“So… what did he say?” Beta asked.

 

“I… I’m not sure I can talk about it. The ninja had seemed very worried after we told them—”

  
“Sven, the ninja have left, that Ino girl is pestering Naruto with questions, Inoichi-san is trying to talk with his wife who was angry at him for some reason—”

  
“Angry?” Ta’Sava asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Trust me, she was. My point is, we’re alone in the kitchen and we’re not talking in Akaviri, nobody will know what we’re saying.”   
  


“Fine, I guess Master Conrad will eventually tell you guys anyway,” Sven sighed. “How to explain this… do you remember reading about Mannimarco and Vanus Galerion?”

 

“Sure we do,” Beta nodded. “Mannimarco is only _the_ most notorious necromancer that ever lived and Galerion founded the Mages Guild. Of course we know who you're talking about!”

 

“Right. So, turns out that something around a thousand years ago, there was a mage of similar skill and power here in Akavir, if not stronger.”

  
“Stronger?” Ta’Sava asked incredulously.

 

“This wizard, he… he concealed all of Akavir from the eyes of the daedric princes. Since then, they haven’t been able to directly influence the continent.” 

 

For a moment his fellow students didn’t say anything, seemingly stunned at the concept of someone being powerful enough to even contemplate doing such a thing. Then, Beta finally asked what they were all wondering.  
  


“How?”

 

* * *

 

Conrad stared at the single moon in the sky as the crickets sang their song in the night.

  
  
He took a large sip of his drink. It wasn’t mead, and his soul cried out at the taste of the rice wine, but it would just have to do for now. There seemed to be nothing else on this Divines-forsaken continent. 

 

A cloud passed over the moon, briefly obsuring the light. Conrad wondered at it. The dremora had thankfully bought his bluff and revealed what he had known, which hadn’t been much. But it had shed new light on the strangeness of this land.

 

Such a feat of magic was way beyond a mortal’s reach. To create a celestial body and then use it as the focal point of your magic to wholly veil an entire realm from the sight of all the Princes… it was enough to make his head spin, and not because of the swill he was drinking.   
  


He wondered if it was also related to the lack, or at least reduced number of monsters that roamed around.

  
“Just who in Oblivion were you?” he asked to nobody. He was a bit grateful that whoever the mage of old had been, he wasn’t around anymore. Otherwise he would probably rule Akavir as a god-king, making Vivec look like a child playing with blocks in comparison. Tamriel would’ve never stood a chance against such power.   
  


In the end, Conrad just shrugged. He didn’t care much about the life of wizards of old, only about how to fix the current problem. He took an instinctive swig of his bottle only to find that it was empty.

  
  
Deciding he was not even close to drunk enough, he left the empty bottle on the porch and stumbled back into the house. There was bound to be some more of this sake stuff in there. 

  
He heard voices as he walked towards the living room, and for a moment he wondered if Inoichi’s daughter was still tormenting Naruto with questions, but instead he came upon the scene of Inoichi, who still looked worse to wear, being quietly hissed at by his wife. What was her name, again? 

 

The man was practically stumbling back as he tried to ward off her anger but as soon as they noticed him they separated and mumbled some weak excuse to cover up their fight, but Conrad just strolled to the cabinet where their host stored what passed for liquor around here.

 

“Harissen-san, I hope you’ll find your accommodations to your liking, it was the best we could do on such a short notice,” the woman said politely, looking pointedly at her husband at the last part.

 

Conrad simply nodded, taking a sniff from a bottle.

 

“Now if you excuse me, I think I better send the children to bed,” she said before turning to leave. Conrad guessed that Naruto would be spending the night here.

  
  
“Sure, sure. Inoichi, when you’re feeling better there are things we should talk about,” Conrad said, looking at the mind-walker.

 

That immediately stopped the woman on the door’s frame. “Better? What does he mean with ‘when you feel _better’_?” she asked, turning towards her husband. Conrad winced. “Is this related to why you came home looking like something the cat dragged in?”

  
  
Inoichi briefly shot Conrad a glare, but the Nord just shrugged. He wasn’t the one who’d delved into a daedra’s mind, and he wasn’t the one who’d apparently thought hiding it from his wife was a good idea. 

 

“I’m…” Inoichi hesitated, and his wife’s lips grew distinctly pursed as she grew more and more displeased. “I can’t tell you, it’s classified.”

 

The woman’s eyes only narrowed more. “I see.” Then she turned towards Conrad with an unchanged expression. “Would you please excuse us, Harissen-san?”

  
  
Conrad decided that discretion was the better part of valour, especially when a woman scorned was involved. He quickly grabbed a couple of bottles per hand and went back to the garden.

  
He had barely drank half of one when Inoichi showed up with a similar look to that of a whipped dog.

  
“I’m going to be sleeping on the couch tonight. Thank you for that,” the shinobi said as he sat beside him.

 

Conrad snorted. That was one of the reasons he had never married. That, and the fact that the last woman he had considered marrying had stabbed him in his left lung. 

 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, taking another sip to bury the unpleasant memory.

  
  
“I’m fine, the potion you gave me helped calm my nerves,” Inoichi answered.

 

“That’s not what I mean,” Conrad said. Of course the potion had helped; he had made it. He still couldn’t believe he had had to insist so much before Shikaku had allowed him to, though. 

 

“Look, I know it was a stupid decision, but it had had to be done!” the mind-walker tried to justify.

  
  
“People don’t just… go inside a dremora’s mind and leave unhurt,” he countered. Not that there were a lot of documented cases like this one, but Inoichi would be incredibly lucky if there were no side-effects. Especially if a _Prince_ was involved.

 

“How bad do you think it is?” Inoichi asked after a moment of silence. Conrad hummed a little at that. 

 

“Nightmares, for sure. You may also feel like you’re going through it again every now and then.”

  
  
“Flashbacks, great. I figured as much. Anything else?”

  
  
“Well… if you ever feel like you want to eat a heart or hear voices in your head, I want you to tell someone immediately.”

 

“Heh,” Inoichi snorted before looking at him with a frown. “... that was a joke, right?”

 

Conrad’s only answer was finishing what was left in the bottle. “Then, there’s the matter of Boethiah…”

 

"That is the... Prince, right?"

 

"He... she... whatever, reigns over killing, combat, lying... stabbing people in the back, breaking their trust. Makes people go against their leaders," Conrad tried to explain, stopping to find the right words.

 

"What do you mean, she _reigns_?"

 

"I mean that she has power over that domain and everything in it. Princes can influence people with whispers, dreams, promises of power... Boethiah is not even the worst one. If they find a way back here, people will have dreams. Visions. They'll hear things... and cults will start to appear."

 

Inoichi was silent for a long while, turning very pale. "And I'm one of the worst people to have under her influence."

 

Conrad nodded bluntly, softening the truth wouldn't help. "You met the Prince through a memory, that's... unusual. Maybe you will be fine, but maybe... As I said, tell someone if you start hearing voices."

 

Inoichi turned to Conrad. "Is there any way to resist their influence...? If they find a way here?"

 

"Well..." Conrad frowned in thought. "Back at home, people usually ask counsel to the local priest, or to a group that follows Stendarr... I'm not sure how to translate their name though, but—"

 

"... are you seriously suggesting religion?" Inoichi asked in disbelief.

 

"Religion is not just words and hollow priests asking for tribute. The gods are real, Inoichi, I should know. So are Daedric Princes. You _met_ one, is it so hard to believe in the opposite?"

 

"It's just... shinobi aren't exactly spiritual types, given the life we chose."

 

"Neither I am. I'm not exactly very faithful."

 

"Wait, you argue that gods are real, but you don't pray to them?"

 

Conrad gave an irreverent shrug. "Never did me any good. But who knows. It may help."

 

"And to which god should I pray?"

 

"I don't know your gods, but you could always try Stendarr. He doesn't like daedra. I could even carve you a necklace with his icon if you want," Conrad proposed. For all he knew, the third moon was keeping the Aedra away from Akavir as well, but trying wouldn’t harm Inoichi.

 

Inoichi breathed out a relieved sigh. "Thank you… It’s happened to you too, right? Catching a Daedric Prince’s interest?"

 

He just shrugged and took a sip from his new bottle before answering. "Tamriel has been dealing with them for a long, long time. I’ve had to deal with my own share."

 

"Conrad," Inoichi said, calling him by his name for the first time. The Nord stopped mid-sip. "Assuming they’re able to come here because of my meeting with Boethiah, is there any way we can stop them from breaking through?"

 

Conrad slowly put the bottle down and sighed before looking the ninja in the eyes. "... I don't know. Maybe that wizard of old knew, but he's not around to tell us about it."

 

Inoichi adopted a thoughtful look. "You know, I think that there are some monks that preach the teachings of a so-called Sage, one who is believed to have created the moon and performed miracles... I'm pretty sure they don't say anything about the daedra or the Princes, but we could be talking about the same person."

 

"Are there any monks in Konoha?" Conrad asked without much hope since he had yet to see any so far. Not that he had been able to fully explore the city yet.

 

"Unfortunately no, I don't think that religion is very widespread in Fire Country. More than that, this is a shinobi village, they aren't exactly eager to start preaching to the masses here. But there's someone in the village who would know."

 

"Who?" Conrad perked up. A lead was something he could work with.

 

"Jiraiya of the Sannin. I could ask if he can speak with you, but..."

 

"What? What's wrong with meeting me?" He should have known. The shinobi probably didn't want him to be seen around the village after the last few close calls.

 

"He was Minato's teacher," Inoichi said. That wasn't what Conrad had expected. Doubt crept into his mind.

 

"He was close to Minato?" he asked, his voice level. He hadn’t had the chance to learn much about this brother, not nearly as much as he would've liked anyway.

 

"Oh, yes. Jounin sensei tend to have a special relationship with their genin. They train them, teach them, protect them and even later in life they still remain close to their students."

 

"So, this Jiraya—"

 

" _Jiraiya_ , Conrad," the Yamanaka corrected.

 

"Right, right. So, this Jiraiya... was like a father to Minato?" he asked slowly.

 

"Very likely Minato grew up as an orphan, so—"

 

"Then why isn’t he taking care of Naruto?" the Nord asked, narrowing his eyes.

 

"I... I don't—"

 

"Why haven’t _any_ of my brother's friends taken care of Naruto?" Conrad demanded, genuine anger leaking into his voice.

 

"We didn't know that Naruto was his son, I swear!" 

 

"... whatever. I'll talk to Jiraiya. And the Hokage," he said, deflating a bit as he reigned himself in. The old monkey had to have always known the truth, and if this Jiraiya had been so close to Minato, there was no way he hadn't known. Conrad _would_ be expressing his displeasure shortly.

 

"Yeah, probably a good idea. I think Hokage-sama should hear about the Princes too," Inoichi nodded, seeminging to not realize Conrad’s plans. Maybe it was from the shock of being an idiot that jumped into daedric minds?

 

"Didn't your friend tell him already?"

 

"Oh, I'm sure Shikaku left a good report. But you should probably give one in person. Your language skills are getting better, after all."

 

The two of them stared at the moon for a few minutes, the only sounds being the crickets and Conrad drinking a sip every now and then. He wondered how the Akaviri would react when he told them that Nirn had two other moons already.

 

“How do you deal with it?” Inoichi asked, still staring at the moon.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“How do you just… live, knowing that there are these Princes, these… entities that can influence our world without us having a say in it?” the ninja asked. The Nord was aware that while a single moon may have been very odd to him and his students, the revelation of its purpose had probably put into question everything Inoichi had known about the world.

 

After a few seconds of thinking, Conrad sheepishly raised his bottle.

 

"... I'll go get some more booze." 

 

* * *

 

“Uncle?” someone called in the language he had been more or less forced to learn. He answered with an undignified grunt, trying to fall back to sleep.

 

“Come on Uncle, wake up.” They kept talking, even shaking him, which made him roll over and burrow under the sheet. Why were they calling him uncle any—Oh, right.

 

Conrad tried to open his eyes and immediately regret it. He couldn’t help but moan in pain as he wondered why the light was so bright.

 

“What’s wrong with him? Is he sick?” Naruto asked someone Conrad couldn’t see. He was too busy covering his eyes with his arm.

 

“Here, give him this,” a voice he didn’t know replied.

 

Conrad didn't get the chance to take a look at the newcomer before somebody thrust a glass against his lips. He almost choked and didn't have any choice but to swallow the liquid inside. Water with... something in it? He opened his eyes, fearing that someone had poisoned him but relaxed when he saw Naruto holding the empty glass.

 

"Are you alright, Uncle?" the boy asked with a worried face.

 

"He will be," the voice from before reassured. Conrad turned slightly to see a huge red-clad man with an impressive white mane for hair towering above him. "The headache should disappear in a few minutes." 

 

He sat up on the mat he had been given for the night. "Hello, boy... Why did you wake me?"

 

"It's morning, you missed breakfast," Naruto explained.

 

"I did?" he groggily asked, realizing that he was feeling a little hungry. He turned to the tall man, studying him for a few seconds as he did the same to Conrad. "Jiraiya of the Sannin?"

 

"In the flesh," the man said with a tinge of a smile.

 

“Minato’s teacher, yes?” Conrad queried, hauling himself to his feet and shaking his head to clear it.

  
  
Naruto turned towards the older man at that. “What?! _You_ taught my dad?! I thought you were just a pervert that knew a few good jutsu!”

 

Jiraya scowled. “Brat, of course you wouldn’t appreciate my genius!”

 

“Like when I caught you peeping at the baths?” Naruto asked with an unimpressed expression. Conrad wondered if he had understood that right.

  
  
“I was conducting important research and you know it!” Jiraiya harrumphed in response before continuing. “But yes, I was the one who taught Minato everything he knew.”

 

“That’s so cool… wait, does that mean that you knew Kakashi-sensei when he was my dad’s student?”

  
  
“You know about that, too?” the tall shinobi wondered. “I wish he had told me, I would have brought pictures.”

 

“Is there something to eat in the house?” Conrad interrupted the two of them as he stretched a bit.

 

“Sorry uncle, we already finished before Ero-Sennin arrived.” 

  
“Who?” he asked in confusion.

  
  
“Him,” Naruto said, pointing at Jiraiya.

  
  
“I told you to stop calling me that,” the man grumbled. Conrad decided to ask what that meant later. “If you want, I could accompany you somewhere you’ll be able to eat, Harissen-san. As well as speak without raising too many questions.”

 

Conrad knew an invitation when he saw one. “Let me get ready first,“ he said as he massaged his temples. He had asked to talk with the man, sure, but not when he was nursing a hangover. At least the headache was indeed passing, he idly wondered what kind of potion that had been, but Akaviri didn’t seem to have the same alchemy he knew.

 

“Can I come, too?” Naruto asked eagerly. 

  
“Aren’t you going to be late for your team meeting, kid?” Jiraiya asked with a smirk.

 

Naruto’s eyes widened and he practically shot out of the room, calling to his uncle about seeing him later for dinner.

 

“So, about that food…” Conrad said after an awkward moment of silence between the two men.  
  


"Don't worry, Harrisen-san, I know just the place,” Jiraiya said.

 

* * *

 

Meat. Glorious, glorious, juicy meat with an odd but tasty bitter-sweet sauce and some spices that he wasn’t able to identify all over it. There was not a single grain of rice in sight, thank Talos and Akatosh for that.

 

Not even in the form of booze. He didn’t know the name for it yet, but he had been introduced to a sweet wine made with plums.   
  
Mead was still better, of course.

 

He had been allowed only one glass though, even if his hangover was pretty much gone. How could these Akaviri be so surprised by alchemy if they were able to produce something that could kill a hangover better than any traditional remedy? It baffled him.

  
  
Maybe Jiraiya just wanted to be sure he was sober enough to talk with him after all the hassle he went through to bring him somewhere very few citizens passed by. Even if Conrad had pointed out that he had his disguise. The older man had just glanced at the cloak and funny hat he had borrowed from Inoichi and asked him to follow him.

 

“So,” Conrad started, gulping down a bite. “I was told you know about the wizard.”

  
  
“The wizard?” Jiraiya asked with a perplexed expression.

  
“Yes, the wizard,” Conrad repeated, putting down his chopsticks. Damn things. He missed forks. “The one that made the moon?”

  
  
“Oh, you mean the Sage.”

 

“Yes. What do you know about him?”

  
  
“Not much, I’m afraid,” Jiraiya shrugged. “There are various legends, like the one about him creating the moon, and some documents that prove he existed. What we know for sure is that he preached his word throughout the lands.”

 

“His word?” Conrad asked, this time it was his turn to be confused.

 

“Encouraging people to come together, struggling for peace, spirituality, that sort of thing. His followers did the same, obviously. Sadly, in the last few centuries, the Elemental Nations have been torn by many wars, so—”

  
  
“What about the moon? How did he create it?” he interrupted. While philosophy was a fascinating topic, he had more pressing matters to think of.

 

If Jiraiya was upset about being cut off, he didn’t show it. Maybe he was trying to hide how weird it was to speak with someone that looked like Minato. “Nobody really knows.”

  
  
“What do you mean? Didn’t he leave... something? An explanation?” he questioned. What he wouldn’t give for being able to say grimoire or spellbook in Akaviri.

  
  
“No, the whole story is part of a series of apocryphal legends—”

 

“Apowhat?”

  
  
“His stories were written by other people,” Jiraiya clarified. “No one knows how he did it.”

 

Conrad stared at Jiraiya for a few seconds, trying to process what he had just been told.

  
  
This ancient all-powerful wizard had sent a metaphysical middle finger to all the Daedric Princes at once, concealing a whole continent from their eyes and influence and who knows what else, then left no explanation about how he had accomplished it whatsoever _in case something went wrong?_

 

What an asshole.

 

Conrad let his shoulders sag as he groaned in disappointment. He tried to make a grab for the wine bottle, but Jiraiya snatched it away and then served himself a glass.

 

"You look upset," the shinobi observed before sipping the wine. Jerk.

 

"My brother is dead, my nephew was left on his own his whole life, I’ve been kept here against my will for months, and I don't know how to keep you bastards _safe_!” Conrad started to say slowly, gaining momentum and feeling more pissed off with every single word he said. “I have _every right_ to look upset!"

 

Jiraiya looked a bit stunned for a moment, and the Nord took advantage of it. A small application of telekinesis and the bottle soared towards his hand. He quickly downed as much as he could before slamming the now significantly less full bottle onto the table.

 

A moment of silence followed as Jiraiya regarded him with a completely blank expression waiting for him to continue. “I understand that being a sensei is very important, almost like being part of the family… and for an orphan like Minato that would’ve been very important,” he muttered, holding the bottle tight. “So, where in the name of the _gods_ and _fuck_ were you after he died?”

  
Jiraiya held his gaze in silence for a few moments before deeply sighing and looking down on the table. “I was wondering when you would bring that up,” he said. Conrad couldn’t tell whether the other man was ashamed or pained from seeing Minato’s face accusing him him. “Inoichi had warned me that you were a very blunt person.”

 

“Answer the question.”

 

"If Sarutobi-sensei were here—that's the Hokage, in case you don’t recall—"

 

"I know who the Hokage is,” Conrad told him, narrowing his eyes. “Quit stalling."

 

"If he were here, he would give you many reasons,” Jiraiya continued. “That I’d had duties to attend to. That I’d had to leave the village to handle our affairs across the land. That my presence would've revealed Naruto's parentage... and who knows what else he would come up with to justify it. But the truth, Harissen-san... the truth is that I am a coward."

 

Conrad felt his eyebrows shoot up in confusion. His grip on the wine lessened. “What?”

 

“Minato… your brother, wasn’t just my student, but my apprentice as well. I had spent almost all of his life training him, seeing him surpass me and become a man I would’ve been proud to call…” Jiraiya’s words died in his mouth, but he quickly got himself together. “I just _knew_ that he had a brilliant future ahead of him. The village, his family… when he and his wife died, it was devastating.”

 

The Nord waited a few seconds before gesturing for the man to continue.

 

“Not just to me or the people close to them, though. Konoha had lost many people that night. We were wounded. We were _weak_ , our enemies were about to smell blood and try to take advantage of it. Sarutobi-sensei would be right to say that I’d had duties, but the truth is that I hid in them to forget my pain.”

  
“Did it work?”

  
“No.”

 

  
“That doesn’t explain why Naruto was left alone.”

  
  
Jiraiya stared in his glass for a moment before speaking. “I lied to myself… he was a newborn, surely I could spy on our enemies and defend our home while he was so little, right? I was always terrible with babies. When my teammates and I found your brother… The point is, I thought I could make it up to him later in his life.” 

  
“But that didn’t happen.”

  
“No, it didn’t… two or three years old is still pretty young, after all. Or at least I’d thought so, and there was so much going on… we’d barely avoided a war back then,” Jiraiya said sternly. “After that… after that it just got easier to find excuses to stay away.”

 

“And now…”

  
“Now, I’m back. Because Naruto needed my help. For the exams and… for a few other things. Although, I have to confess that, had it not been for you, I would never have told him—”

  
“Are you about to say that you would have waited until he was older to tell him the truth about his parents?”

 

“... yes,” Jiraiya admitted, having the decency to look ashamed. “If it helps, I’m sorry.”

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Conrad sat up, the wine bottle all but forgotten.

 

"I'm not the one you should be making these excuses to," he said as he started walking away. "If you want to make up to the boy, fine. But don't you dare let him down again, or I will take him away from here." 

 

Then he left, leaving Jiraiya to face the ghost of another blond-haired and blue-eyed man with a mask of disappointment.

 

* * *

 

The Nord wandered for a while through Konoha's back streets, fuming. The more he thought about what Jiraiya had believed could pass as valid excuses, the angrier he got.

 

Conrad wasn't sure what was worse. Jiraiya, for leaving the child of the man he’d dared to consider his son in all but name alone for nearly his whole life, the Hokage, for doing nothing about it, or Naruto's teacher, Kaka-whatever, for being pretty much the same. Then there was the fact that the entire village seemed to not like Naruto for some reason. He would've asked about it but he had decided that he’d had to leave before doing something he would regret.

 

And to let Jiraiya stew in his guilt. He deserved it.

 

He walked to calm down. At least once, he vented his pent-up rage and frustration on some of the metal containers the Akaviri used to store trash. Then yelled at whoever had protested from the windows around him. Just a little bit. Enough so that he wouldn't kick someone in the balls as soon as he saw them.

 

Then he found himself wondering where he could go, since he wasn't really used to the layout of the city yet. Which way was Inoichi's house, anyway? He could've asked one of the masked guards that were surely following him, but he decided to just pick a street and search for the first landmark instead. Maybe Minato's mountain-sized face would help him in that regard.

 

He ignored the occasional passersby as he wondered what he should do next. He felt like he didn't have the full picture, but at the same time he didn't like what he was already seeing. Maybe taking Naruto away with him wasn’t such a bad idea, but he wasn't sure if he could pull it off without risking the magelings' lives. Besides, kidnapping the boy wouldn't leave a good impression. Probably.

 

As soon as he sighted Minato's sissy chin, along with those of three other people he didn't care for, he stopped to figure out which way he was supposed to go.

 

"Harissen-san?" a voice asked from behind him. Conrad turned, almost ready to explain to the masked guards that the trash had provoked him by simply existing, just to stop when he realized that it wasn't one of those mask-wearing ninja.

 

It was an old man wearing a simple robe. Half of his face was covered in bandages and he was missing an arm. He also seemed to have a lame leg, given the way he was putting most of his weight on his cane as he walked closer.

 

"My name is Shimura Danzo. I believe we should talk."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story a while ago on fanfiction.net and then I posted it on SpaceBattles too, and recently I friend of mine convinced me to start post something on this site as well.  
> Since for now I have nothing new to post I thought of sharing this story of mine... although I have to admit that re-reading the first chapters again I can't help but cringe a little, because if I were to write them now, I would've done a few things differently.
> 
> I guess that's part of growing up as an author, though.


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